


Here Be Dragons

by bylaude



Series: Adrift [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: ...ironically enough since she's the amnesiac hero lol, Amnesia Angst, Betrayal, Corrin has Issues, Corrin is the only one who will retain memory of the loop..., Deconstructed Corrin, Dragon My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Has Issues, Family Drama, Family Issues, Female My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Gen, Hoshidans are Japanese, Identity Issues, Memory Dissonance, Mental Health Issues, No child units or deep realms, Nohrians are Germans, One-sided Leorrin on Leo's end in the beginning, Princess Corrin of Nohr, Princess Kamui of Hoshido, Time Loop, Time loop will only start at the end of Birthright arc, Trust Issues, Unresolved Hatred, each have their own language but the continent shares a Common Tongue, identity crisis, sanity slippage, some lore and history made up for fateslandia, worldbuilding will be attempted lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bylaude/pseuds/bylaude
Summary: Wherever her decisions may lead her, she must live with it. That’s just fine with her… So long as they live, too. [FEif/FEF/Fates] [F!Corrin/Femui-centric] [Corrin has Issues™] [Everyone has Issues™] [Time Loop] [Brotp!Azurrin]Rated for swearing and violence. Gen, with a heavy focus on Family/Friendship/Drama/Angst/Tragedy with an occasional dash of Humour and Horror.





	Here Be Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue of Birthright Arc, split into eight Acts:
> 
> i) Act I: Brother Mine  
> ii) Act II: Hostages  
> iii) Act III: Moirai  
> iv) Act IV: Wanderer  
> v) Act V: Sister Mine  
> vi) Act VI: Fracture  
> vii) Act VII: Shatter  
> viii) Act ???: Fragment

**BR 01: Out of Reach**

_…She is not Kamui. Not really._

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**x**

**Act I: Brother Mine**

_I shouldn’t be here._

It’s a thought that has plagued Corrin for most of her life. For as long as she can remember, her memories are filled with days in the cold, of staring beyond into the world outside where she could never reach. The days blurred together as her fingers moved across the icy keys of her piano, whiling away her time as she waited and waited. Waited for her siblings to visit her. Waited for their warmth to thaw her, bring her mind into focus and clarity. Waited for the day she could be _free_.

(She has waited so, so long that some days, she thinks she might really be waiting for death, for the cold to finally seep deep into the marrow of her bones and stifle her life.

She has always lived in silence; perhaps she’d die in silence.)

The pervasive feeling of displacement is how she knows that, despite appearances, she is unquestionably trapped in Hoshido right now. True, they let her roam without fuss — even encourage it — and there are no walls or closed doors to keep her locked in. Yet, as she tilts her head up to the sun, the thought again crosses her mind.

_This is not where I should be._

“Don’t stare at the sun, Kamui,” a man’s voice, deep but soft with a foreign fondness, says next to her. Corrin takes a moment too long to respond, unused as she is to this new name — old name — that they address her with, but she obediently averts her eyes. There are spots in her vision and she blinks slowly, mystified by the patterns dancing across her sight. That’s new.

“Hey! Careful,” he grabs onto her arm suddenly and she jerks, realising she had swayed on her feet. This is the closest she’s ever been to the sun and it shows; almost a week has passed and still she is sensitive to the light in a way the Hoshidans aren’t.

“Sorry,” she blurts, lowering her gaze and gently pulling her arm from his hold. He’s quiet as she moves to lean against the wall, her hands pressed against her face as she tries to quell the nausea rising in her chest. Her head is throbbing.

_Why am I here?_

A warm hand gently clasps her shoulder, breaking her reverie.

“Are you alright? Should I get a healer?”

“No, I… I’m fine.”

“Hm… I thought it’d be a nice day to go on a walk, but… If you’re unwell, then perhaps it’s best that you rest today.”

Corrin takes a few breaths more before she can bring herself to look at him.

High Prince Ryoma of the Kingdom of Hoshido stares back at her, his gaze soft with concern. His eyes are kind as he looks at her and she feels guilt for being utterly unnerved by it. Here she is, a princess of an enemy kingdom, and he’s—

He looks at her and sees his little sister.

_What am I doing here?_

She knows why she’s out _here_ , at least; Corrin hasn’t quite lost her wits yet, despite the constant disorientation she’s suffered since stepping foot on Hoshidan land. For the past couple of days, both Mikoto and Ryoma — her supposed birth mother and brother — have been taking turns to spend time with her between their royal duties, sharing stories with her and trying to stir any old memories that might be locked inside her mind. It’s almost admirable, really, how quickly they'd leapt back with determination despite the initial crushing disappointment they held in their eyes when they realised she had no recognition of them. They persisted, taking the time out of their day to simply talk to her as she stayed in her darkened room, slowly adjusting to the harsh glare of the sun. Their earnestness has silenced her protests and she now finds herself unable to correct them as they call her by a name she cannot remember bearing.

Kamui. She’s not entirely sure if she can even pronounce it. Corrin shakes her head.

“No, I’m okay,” she wills a smile on her face, an action that has become as natural as breathing to her. “That was foolish of me, but I’m fine, now. You said you wanted to bring me someplace, right?”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Ryoma murmurs, somewhat unconvinced. Corrin watches the signs of fretting show on his face, a sight she’s used to seeing on Camilla’s visage, and she reaches out on reflex, in a knee-jerk urge to comfort. Her fingers brush along the inside of his elbow, before she catches herself and pulls back, embarrassed. He raises a brow but says nothing of it and simply smiles. It looks a little less desperate and forced than his other smiles. “Come along, then. You’ve spent so much time cooped up in here. It’s time we go out.”

She blinks. “We’ve went out before.”

“Not during daytime!” He laughs, loud and deep. Corrin finds herself noting it’s nothing like Xander’s quiet chuckles. She tries not to dwell on it. “You can barely see any of Hoshido’s true beauty in the dark of the night.”

She does not correct him. Never mind the fact that Hoshido’s nights are still brighter than Nohr’s days, her sight has grown sharp from all the times she'd spent eavesdropping on Xander as he trained in the dark, or from sneaking out snacks from the kitchen for late reading sessions with Leo. She does not speak of them these days; though Ryoma is kind to her, she can see a deep-seated fury in his eyes when she speaks fondly of the people he thinks of as her kidnappers. Mikoto’s reaction is probably worse, as she would smile with understanding but appear sorrowful when she thinks Corrin isn’t looking.

She makes it a habit to never speak of them, keeping them only in her thoughts.

So instead, she asks, “Will we be going far?”

“Just the palace gardens,” Ryoma hums, tucking his arms in his sleeves. Hoshidan clothes are so different from the Nohrian ones she’s used to. The fabrics are vibrant and patterned, the material thin and airy in contrast to the Nohrian furs and leather, with multiple layers held close by a long strip of cloth. They throw around strange words like kimono and yukata, gi and haori — and Corrin finds herself repeatedly having to hold back from groaning that she can barely tie their strange belts, much less learn all these names.

Ryoma, clad in his country’s clothes, looks like a different man than the armour-clad warrior prince she had first met. Granted, most men do appear much less imposing out of their armour — Xander and Leo come to mind here — but there’s something strangely soft about Ryoma. Maybe it’s the absence of that weird chin armour. Maybe it’s the Hoshidan clothes that make one look soft. Corrin glances down at her own attire; she _feels_ soft, too, and it’s not the cotton.

Perhaps she should be glad for the light clothing. On her worst days, Hoshido’s warm air could feel as suffocating as the chill of the Northern Fortress.

_I should not be here,_ the thought persists, even as she lets her feet be guided by Ryoma’s. He takes her out of the main palace through a back exit, leading her to what she assumes is the gardens. The trees grow tall, here, greener than anything she’s ever seen, and foliage line the winding path they walk. Her feet are bare on cobblestone warmed by the sun and she’s surprised how much heat she can feel seeping through the thick skin of her soles.

Seeming to notice her drifting attention, Ryoma glances down at her feet and chuckles. “I see not even time has made you lose your distaste for footwear.”

Corrin looks at him curiously. “So, I’ve always hated shoes?”

She had always assumed it to be a force of habit, as she usually stayed indoors and was strangely never provided any kind of footwear as a child. Xander’s first and only attempt to put her in shoes had earned him a kick to the knee for his troubles and a bit of whining from her was enough to persuade Camilla from trying the same.

Ryoma scoffs. “Hate them? You _loathe_ them. Here in Hoshido, we have a custom of only wearing footwear outdoors. For cleanliness reasons, we go barefoot indoors and also adorn slippers in certain rooms. You were bad with keeping all these rules straight and forwent footwear entirely,” he laughs again, “It’s not an unusual sight in the palace to catch Mother chasing you with shoes.”

“Oh,” she intones, barely a response at all as she tries to picture Mikoto attempting to catch a smaller version of her. The mental image is surreal, enough for her to emit a baffled laugh. “That’s a bit strange to think about. She looks too regal to run after a scruffy little child.”

“You’d be surprised.”

_This is kind of painful,_ Corrin can’t help but think, as the conversation lulls into an awkward silence. _This is worse than when I first met Leo and Camilla._

It’s not like she has Xander to hide behind now, though, so Corrin decides to soldier on, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

“Was I rambunctious?” She asks, keeping her tone light.

“Yes,” is his blunt reply. He grins when he catches her pout. “It’s not always a bad thing. You were… _lively_.”

Corrin smiles wryly. “In a good way, I hope?”

Ryoma pauses a moment to think it over and she’s wonders if he’s trying to formulate a lie. Corrin knows she’s less than poised even as an adult; she can only imagine what a terror she must’ve been as a small child. Maybe he’s trying to phrase things nicely, or maybe he’d tease her, or maybe he’d laugh it off. Trying to predict his reactions based on what Xander or Camilla would do isn’t doing her favours; if anything, it’s probably a _dis_ favour to the Ryoma of the here and now, her long-lost blood brother who is earnestly striving to reconnect with a sister he no longer knows.

_I really am a terrible person,_ she thinks, peering at him and still trying to arouse any sense of familiarity.

He looks back at her, startling her with the sudden eye contact. “To put it plainly, we are often constrained by formalities and expectations… It sometimes makes it hard to draw the line, between being the royal family of Hoshido and being, well, just a family. You helped with the latter, I think.”

Corrin draws back, blinking in sudden remembrance. Elise had told her something similar, once, just a few months after they'd first met. Something along the lines of…

_“Before you, there wasn’t much of a family.”_

She tries to think. Much earlier, she had been told that she had other siblings here in Hoshido. Sisters and another brother. Yet, in her time here, the only one she’s seen so far is Ryoma. Where are the rest? They say she has a family here, a family bound to her by blood and birth, but where is it?

“I’m sorry.”

Ryoma stops in his tracks, looking at her with confusion. “Sorry? For what?”

Corrin opens her mouth, then closes it, unsure how to give voice to these complicated feelings and thoughts she had. Maybe she’s assuming too much, some part of her worries. _Aren’t you being self-centred? You can’t possibly be that important._ She bites her lip, averting her gaze nervously.

“Kamui?”

“You…” she pauses to inhale, heaving a sigh. “You’ve struggled, right? My, my absence… Even now, I can’t… I can’t be what you want.”

The prince is silent for a long time and she can’t bear to look up, afraid of what she might see on his face. Disappointment? Anger? From what she’s seen so far, her disappearance clearly affected them. It is the only reason she had believed it when they told her the impossible story of her true origin; a person can’t just fake that kind of hurt and hope. Yet, even though she is now returned to them, she’s not the person they must’ve been hoping for. Up till now, she still doesn’t feel like the queen’s daughter or Ryoma’s sister.

In a sense, she’s really an imposter, masquerading with the face of their loved one but void of any true attachment to them.

It must sting.

Something lands heavily on her head and she flinches, wide red eyes darting back up. Ryoma is smiling down at her, the expression tender but unspeakably sad on his face. It’s a look of regret and she swallows, hating that it’s something she _does_ recognise.

For a moment, in Ryoma’s shadowed silhouette haloed by the sun behind him, she sees Xander, staring into some unknown, faraway place with rueful eyes when he thinks no one can see.

She _hates_ it.

“You’re not lost to us, yet,” Ryoma says, his voice unusually subdued. “Your memories… They will return. I have to believe that. So, for now, don’t think about things like that.”

“U—um…”

Whatever she wants to say is lost to her thoughts as he suddenly ruffles her hair, the motion rough and playful, jostling her head. Corrin yelps.

“H—hey!” She has to use both hands to thrust his arm off her head, desperately trying to smooth down her flaxen locks. Without meaning to, her protests come out as a whine, “Don’t mess up my hair…”

“What does it matter?” He laughs, the sombre mood dissipating as he tucks his arm back into his wide sleeve. Ryoma gives her a crooked smile, teasing, “Your hair is _already_ messy.”

“Not my fault! It gets frizzy when exposed to sunlight!”

“Hm? What’s your excuse back in Nohr? The air is too humid?”

“It _is_ humid,” Corrin complains, affronted.

He rolls his eyes at her, snorting, and she’s not sure whether to be surprised by the sudden comfortable air between them. It reminds her a bit of how Leo would mercilessly tease and poke fun at Elise until she either retaliated (usually with disproportionate violence) or, worse, sic their elder siblings on him.

_Is he a bully type elder brother?_ Corrin wonders, staring nonplussed at Ryoma’s back with her hands still clasped protectively over her head. It would make sense. Maybe his behaviour in the past week is the exception, brought about by her amnesia and his worry…

“Hm? Hurry up, now,” Ryoma calls over his shoulder, noticing her halt. “It’s just a little further.”

“Uh, right, sorry…” She rushes to catch up, pattering after him. His eyes stay on her as they walk, curious.

“Are you tired? Should I carry you the rest of the way?” He asks, and for a moment she thinks he’s probably kidding or teasing her again, until she looks at his face, sees no trace of gaiety and realises he’s being _absolutely serious_.

Corrin flounders, skittering a step away from his side. “N—no need! I’m not a child, you know…”

_And isn’t that a Camilla thing to do?!_ She wants to moan.

“Ah, right… I suppose not,” he chuckles, forcefully, and falls into contemplative silence, like he’s thinking about how he’s missed her entire childhood. She cringes.

_The awkward atmosphere is back…_

Before she can try to squirm her way out of _this_ mess, Ryoma abruptly stops. She does the same, confused.

“We’re here,” he says and when he turns, she sees that his smile is wide and expectant. Corrin frowns, lost, until he gestures above. “Look up, Kamui.”

Baffled and with little choice but to follow his words, she hesitantly cranes her head back, only to flutter her eyes shut in surprise. Pink fills her vision as something satin soft lands on her eyelid. She pulls it off.

_A petal…?_

Pink. The sight that greets her is ethereal. Overhead is a sea of pink, gently swaying in the breeze on willowy branches, sprawling above from a grand tree upon a small hill. There’s no green whatsoever and she almost mistakes it for a tree of pink leaves, if not for the velvet touch on the pad of her finger. In an enraptured daze, Corrin extends her hand upwards, letting the petal in her grasp fly free into the wind.

A pink tree. Having lived in the desolate lands of Nohr, the sight before her is like something out of a dream.

_A dream? No, this is… Where have I seen this? This wonder that fills my heart…_ Her hand lowers to rest on her bosom. _I’ve felt this before._

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s about the time of the first flowering, so I thought I’d show you. It’s the pride of our land—”

“Sakura.”

“Yes, that’s—” Ryoma stops, every muscle in his being tensing as his mind catches up to her utterance. He struggles to turn to her, his mouth agape. “K—Kamui, what did you just say?”

“Sakura,” she breathes out, smiling up at the blossoms with a breathless smile, “They’re called sakura, aren’t they? Cherry blossoms.”

He dares not get his hopes up. “Did…Mother tell you…?”

“No,” Corrin reaches out again, petals grazing her skin and slipping through her fingers, and closes her eyes, picturing within her mind’s eye of flowers of pink gently showering down her like snowfall. A warm hand plucking petals out of her hair. A picnic beneath the tree. The taste of something sweet. Laughter of children ringing in her ears. “I’ve dreamt of this… I suppose I would. How can I forget a sight like this?”

When she opens her eyes and turns her gaze to him, Ryoma’s expression of sheer elation and relief is one that she would remember as surely as the first flowering of Hoshido’s cherry blossoms.

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act II: Hostages**

Azura is the first of the sisters she meets.

Though, perhaps that assessment is not quite accurate, as Azura is quick to inform her.

“I am not one of your blood siblings,” her voice, as dulcet as her silhouette is graceful, does nothing to hide the stark honesty of her words as she speaks, “I am a Princess of Nohr. I was taken to Hoshido shortly after Nohr stole you from this kingdom.”

“Oh,” Corrin utters uselessly. “As…as retaliation?”

Azura ponders this question, her entire aura exuding a sort of undefeatable unflappability that Corrin could almost marvel at. She hums.

“Partly. I believe they wished to use me as a bargaining chip for your return…until they realised King Garon cared nothing for me.”

“Oh,” Corrin murmurs, unable to articulate her horror at this revelation. A bargaining chip — to treat someone so coldly that they become less a human and more a means to an end… Even in this warm place, she supposes people here were also capable of that.

Azura looks at her for a moment longer, before seeming to realise something. She grimaces. “Ah, my apologies… It seems I may have been too forward in my explanation. I am not blaming you for this. The circumstances are simply what they are.”

“Oh, uh, no, I’d never blame myself—” Corrin reflexively bit her tongue, realising how her words, blabbered out in her panic and social obtuseness, must’ve come across. Rather than take offense, however, Azura simply raises her brows and giggles, girlish and bell-like.

“I see. We seem to have started off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again?”

She clears her throat, shifting awkwardly on her feet. “Um. Okay? Yeah, sure.”

“I am Azura, former Princess of Nohr and now Ward of Hoshido. Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Corrin of House Ro… Um, I mean, just Kamui. Princess of Hoshido and…Ward of Nohr, I guess? Hi.”

The words burn on her tongue but Corrin ignores it, forcing them out of her mouth.

They stare at one another in silence, mutually flabbergasted by the other’s presence and unsure of how to proceed. She thinks Azura might be sizing her up a little, her golden gaze sharp on her otherwise delicate face. Everything about Azura appears delicate, almost fairy-like, from her slight physique to her soft features. She stands about three fingers’ width shorter than Corrin herself, with long tresses the colour of the sky spilling over her back. Corrin stares at it and thinks of an old folktale read to her once, of a princess trapped in a tower with locks long enough for people to scale up the side of the tower with.

But it was Corrin who had been trapped in the tower. Azura, on the other hand, she had found alone and emerging from a large lake within the palace’s grounds, unaccompanied by any guards or escorts and seemingly free to go as she pleases. Corrin wonders if that would’ve driven her mad even _more_ than being cooped up in a tower. What would it be like, to spend your whole life knowing you’re a hostage, allowed to roam with the illusion of freedom, but never granted true liberty? To taste a drop of freedom yet never truly attain it?

She does not ask. Instead, what she blurts out is, “Why wouldn’t Father try and get you back?”

Azura’s pleasant countenance freezes and slowly slips off her face. Corrin wants to keel over and drown her stupid mouth in the lake behind them. Why would she ask something as touchy as that upon first meeting?

_Are you an idiot…? Yeah, that’s what Leo would tell me in this situation. And I would be a shameless idiot and salute him, declaring proudly that, yes, I am the biggest idiot! In a test of idiocy, no matter whom I’m up against, I win by default! Ugh, moron…_

However, instead of answering, ignoring her, berating her or any combination of the above, Azura simply leans back on her heels and regards her curiously. “We’ve never met, have we? Is it true that you were kept in a tower for the duration you were in Nohr?”

Corrin cannot hold back her grimace. “Yes… I was told it was for my own good, because of my dragon’s blood.”

“Dragon’s blood?” Azura queries, brow furrowing, “As descendants of the dragons, all Dragonborn have dragon’s blood. Why would you alone be quarantined for that?”

“I’m not clear on the details, but,” Corrin scratches the back of an ear, not noticing Azura’s attention zeroing in on the pointed ends. “Father… King Garon said that I had extremely potent dragon’s blood and I could be a danger to myself and Nohr with the use of Dragon Veins, unless I learned to control it.”

“I see. I suppose that might make sense, given how Dragon Veins are made.”

Corrin blinks. “What do you mean?”

Azura shifts in place, her eyes fluttering close as she seems to think. She sighs. “Kamui, do you know how Dragon Veins are made?”

“When a Dragonborn dies, they leave behind one,” Corrin rattles off, feeling like she’s answering another one of Leo’s pop quizzes. “According to legend, the Twelve Dragons themselves could spontaneous will one into existence, too.”

“Well… Which do you think is more likely to have happened, if I tell you Castle Krakenburg is filled to the brim with them?”

Flinching, Corrin lets her gaze drop, understanding. In hindsight, maybe she shouldn’t have asked so much. During her short time in the halls of Krakenburg, Corrin could sense the sheer number of Dragon Veins within the building, brilliant and fresh enough to have been left there quite recently. There were seven in the throne room alone, and more than she bothered to count tucked in the dark corners of the hallways.

A result of Garon’s other children and concubines warring with each other… Corrin knows little of it, as Xander and Camilla dislike speaking of it and seem unusually keen on hiding the entire affair from her, but she had found out about it, anyways. During the time when their relationship was still new and unfamiliar, Leo had tartly told her how lucky she was to have the whole fort to herself and confided that he hated Krakenburg.

_“Why would you ever want to come to the castle?”_ He had asked sourly, just nine years old and with more walls around his heart than anyone else she had ever met. _“If you knew what it was like there…you’d never call it home. You should stay here, where it’s safe.”_

He said enough to concern her into asking Gunter for details and the veteran knight, hardened as he was, chose to tell her what he could rather than pull the wool over her eyes. The truth had repulsed Corrin and she spoke no more of the matter. If Leo lingered a little longer than the norm or if Elise begged to stay the entire month with her, she chose to simply smile and welcome them with open arms, under the guise of missing them.

The Northern Fortress had been her cage, but for them, it was a safe haven.

She understands what Azura is trying to say. The quantity of Dragon Veins in Castle Krakenburg alone would’ve been all Corrin needed to bring the entire capital of Windmire to ruin, if she so willed it.

“King Garon sired easily over twenty children,” Azura muses, her gaze hooded and dark with remembrance. “If he cared as much as he should’ve, certainly more than just a handful would’ve survived to adulthood, and of all the children, I had the least favour with him. There’s no reason to believe he would want to barter a trade for me, even if my being here is an insult to Nohrian pride.”

Corrin stays silent. A political hostage. That was what Ryoma said she was to Nohr. Corrin can’t find it in herself to argue or even doubt it. King Garon had never visited her in all her time at the Northern Fortress. It left her more than a little resentful, though she never gave voice — or even the slightest hint — to her animosity. Garon barely paid anyone but Xander attention, so why would he turn his attention to her? That had been her reasoning, that he was merely too busy with kingship and preparing Xander for it, but…

Maybe he just didn’t care. How could so many of his children die in his home if he did? If he didn’t care for his children, if he left Azura here at the mercy of his enemies — what is Corrin to him?

_He left me to rot, didn’t he?_ Corrin wonders, bitterly. _Even now, after weeks since I’ve gone missing, I’ve heard nothing from him… Was I kidnapped and kept alive to threaten Hoshido, then? To dissuade them from attacking Nohr and avenging their late king?_

Corrin thinks back on her history lessons. Despite the declaration of war, Hoshido and Nohr have been at a stalemate for over a decade, after King Sumeragi’s death. Though her Nohrian history books speak of the Hoshidan king’s broken oath and divine retribution, Hoshido make claims of an unprovoked ambush and betrayal. Whomever is right, both countries had reason to attack. Why didn’t they?

_Us,_ Corrin thinks, as she looks at Azura. The realisation chills her. _I’m really just…a political hostage._

_We’re the same._

Corrin can’t stop the dry laughter from leaving her lips. Azura frowns.

“So, you and I… We’re a pair of hostage princesses, are we? Royals in name, but captives in reality.”

Azura looks at her, and Corrin gets the distinct feeling that she’s reassessing her. After a heavy pause, the other princess smiles apologetically.

“It seems I have soured the atmosphere once more.”

Corrin waves her off, sighing, “It’s better than sugar-coating it for me.”

“Your eyes,” Azura says abruptly, startling Corrin. She lifts her head and blinks, crimson meeting gold. “They say you’ve been sheltered, but you have old eyes.”

Corrin raises a brow and jests, “Old eyes? Like yours?”

Azura does not answer and simply quirks her lips. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Hm? Oh, I wasn’t offended—”

“Not that,” Azura sighs, her gaze dropping almost shamefully, “I have…taken your place here for a long time. It should’ve been you here, in the sun and with your family, but it was I, instead. Though I am a hostage, I have lived well here. Prince Ryoma speaks to me like I am his sister and Queen Mikoto treats me like her own. It should’ve been you receiving their love.”

_She’s speaking like I’ve suffered,_ Corrin notes, wondering. Had she? Could what she experienced be called suffering?

The cold. The loneliness. Despair of never knowing freedom, of waiting and waiting until time itself became less tangible and more of a concept to her. Corrin lived her life that way for as long as she could remember and though it chafed her, it did not seem strange to her, but it must be so to anyone else.

But she did not suffer, not truly. If anything, Corrin knows she’s been spoiled. From the moment they met, Xander would tirelessly spare the time to visit her in his busy schedule. The world, devoid of colour, had appeared dull to her until he came and brought music with him. Xander and Corrin did not communicate with words so much as with melodies. In those early days, mornings of his visits would be spent seated on the piano as they played duet after duet.

The world had been cold, but also very beautiful.

It was Camilla who brought her warmth a few years later, showering her with undivided affection that Corrin never knew she craved until she had it. And with Camilla came Leo, who brought the world outside that which she could not touch with him in the form of books. With him, words weaved and spun into entire universes within her lonely tower.

A hearth lit by fire from a tome in Camilla’s hands, tender blossoms blooming in Leo’s palm… It was what kept her warm in that icy fort and like a moth to flame, Elise quickly followed. And with Elise came _life_ , passion, laughter. Duets with Xander became duets with Elise and gone was the cold whenever she stepped into the halls, pure and joyful.

Perhaps, Corrin reflects, her world did not have colour or light, but there was warmth and kindness. There was love.

And maybe that’s okay. (Is it? _Is it?_ )

“Why are you apologising for living well?” Corrin smiles ruefully and the other woman looks up at her, startled by the slightly admonishing tone. “I did not live a wretched life in Nohr, Azura. There are people there who have made me happy, as well.”

The princess appears surprised to hear this. A strangely nostalgic expression crosses her features for a moment and she smiles to herself, chuckling. “Yes, I suppose so. Forgive me for assuming.”

“No, it’s fine,” Corrin murmurs, wondering if anyone ever showed kindness to Azura in Nohr. She wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the other princess got caught in the courtly conflict; she seems only a bit older than Leo, who remembers it well enough to bear a grudge to his mother. Corrin finds herself unable to ask. Perhaps she has harassed Azura more than enough now.

“Are you adjusting well, here?” Azura inquires pleasantly, stepping away from the lake and walking in the direction of the palace. Corrin follows, falling into step with her, and idly notes that though her dress is still wet, the water on her skin seems to seamlessly drip off like it would a swan’s back.

Corrin sighs. “I’m…trying my best. Everything is just so different here. The food, the clothes…”

Azura hums. “And the _sun_ , right?”

Corrin groans. “Ugh, tell me about it.”

The older princess laughs, her voice tinkling. “Yes, I had trouble with that, too. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Eventually, huh,” she murmurs, wondering if this is where she’ll be for the rest of her life. Will Hoshido become her new home? (Will this be another cage?) She thinks back on the day before, remembers the sight of Ryoma smiling at her with relief beneath the cherry blossom trees. Will he be her new home? (Home was never the fortress. Home is in Xander’s smile, in Camilla’s embrace and Leo’s voice and Elise’s laughter.)

Corrin’s heart aches, so much that she feels like it might suffocate her. She misses them.

“Princess Kamui?”

“K—Kamui is fine,” Corrin forces herself to say, smilingly.

Azura tilts her head and blatantly watches her. They make it through about a dozen steps before the other princess bluntly asks, “Is it really?”

Corrin struggles with her words. For some reason, it feels wrong to lie to Azura, who has been nothing but forthright with her, even with unpleasant topics. It feels like she owes her the truth. “It’s just…strange. That name, being here, everything… Is this where I’m supposed to be? Is this okay? I just…”

She falls silent and slowly stops in her tracks, tipping her head back and looking up at the building looming ahead of them. Shirasagi Castle… Ever since her trip into the gardens with Ryoma, something about this place prickles the back of her mind. An indistinct memory of being smaller and looking up at the white castle as she does now. It feels familiar, but it also feels like she’s looking into someone else’s memories — like it doesn’t _belong_.

It leaves her with mixed feelings. _This is not right,_ a voice inside tells her, getting insistently louder with each passing day. It is the voice that tells her to leave, to go back to her siblings who must think her _dead_. But there is another voice, one of yearning and vicious curiosity. _I want to know more. More. More. This is mine. It was taken away from me. It was hidden from me. So much has been. But this is MINE._

It startles her to realise that she feels _betrayed_. Doubt plagues her. Was she made a fool of? How much of what she knew was a lie? Did Gunter know of this? Did Garon have so many children that they simply accepted her sudden existence, or did everyone know she was of Hoshido? Did Xander? Camilla?

_This is not right,_ the voice is still there, but smaller now, overpowered by a raging need to _know_.

“What do I do?” Corrin suddenly wonders aloud, looking at the castle. Azura shifts in her peripheral vision but patiently stays silent as she says her piece. “How can I tell the truth from lies? How many lies have I been fed…?”

Azura does not respond, unable to figure out what she’s referring to. Lied to by whom? The people she believed to be her family? Or does she not trust that Mikoto and Ryoma are her blood?

Before she can formulate a tactful response, Corrin interjects, “What would you have done, Azura?”

“Pardon?”

“If you were in my place… What would you have done in my position? Would you accept everything and try to adjust to a place and to people who you did not know, but are _yours_? Or would you try to return to a familiar home that never has been?”

_Would you choose to embrace the unpleasant truth? Or live the blissful lie?_

Unlike before, Azura’s response is immediate. “I would choose here. Nohr was never home to me. Though I live my life in captivity here in Hoshido… There, I lived in fear. Before I came here, peace and safety were but a mere dream, out of my grasp. Queen Mikoto is a just and benevolent ruler; King Garon is not. I will not live my life in fear again.”

“…I thought you might say so,” Corrin says, her tone neutral and indiscernible from where she stood, faced away from Azura. The Nohrian princess considers her counterpart for a long moment.

“But are you happy to simply accept my answer?” She asks, almost gladdened to see the silver-haired princess visibly react, her shoulders tightening with tension.

Growing up in Hoshido, Azura has heard many a tale from Ryoma and Hinoka of a vibrant young girl that had been lost to them, unapologetically expressive in her jubilee and mischief — and equally unreserved in her anger. She was transparent and frank, the sort who flaunted the rules and fearlessly picked fights with the crown prince… It’s unnerving to meet the girl herself and find her a completely different person, wearing a mask of smiles and a subdued gaze. It reminds her a bit too much of herself, guarded and withdrawn like she’s afraid of being hurt.

Azura walks ahead and turns, blocking her view of the castle and looking at Corrin in the eye. It’s probably the most confrontational she has ever been, but it feels right. Setting her jaw, Azura speaks openly, “More than being lied to, it looks to me you are tired of being told things…so I will not tell you what to do. I cannot make a decision for you. You can listen to my reasons, you can listen to others, but in the end, it’s your decision what to accept as truth.”

There is doubt in her eyes as Corrin stares up at her, like a person lost at sea might gaze at a lighthouse. Lost. She looks lost. It is a feeling that Azura knows intimately, so maybe that’s why she feels so strongly about this, wants this callow-eyed girl to find her way even if she herself cannot.

“It takes courage to live a life anew. It also takes courage to forgive. Don’t let anyone decide what’s right for you,” Azura says lowly, “Make your choice and take heart that it was _your_ will and no one else’s.”

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act III: Moirai**

“Ryoma tells me I have a sister named Sakura,” Corrin opens the conversation this way one quiet afternoon, when Mikoto comes to visit her in her room in full regalia. The queen is noticeably startled by this change of topic, lowering the memorabilia she holds in her hands.

The blinds — hung vertically and made of embroidered silk interwoven with bamboo, unlike the Nohrian curtains she’s more used to — are pulled up halfway today, letting much more sunlight in the room than when she was first moved in here. The spring breeze blows through, carrying a faint aroma of flowers, and Corrin closes her eyes, ears tuned to the distant birdsong.

“Ah, that’s right. Ryoma mentioned that he took you to see the cherry blossoms a few days ago,” Mikoto says with renewed cheer, a smile in her voice. “Sakura was named after them for her pink hair. Such a sweet child. But I’m afraid she doesn’t remember you; she was only three when you were…”

Corrin hums, her head propped up in her palm. Regardless of differing culture, it’s still probably bad table manners to have her elbow on the desk while she’s having tea with the queen, but Mikoto doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she appears happy about Corrin’s growing informality, possibly because she’d been stiff as a board just a week ago. It shows she’s beginning to relax; Corrin is not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

Though she has been indulging in the queen’s reminiscing, Corrin can’t help but regard her childhood doodles with disinterest and apathy, disconnected as she feels with them. She doesn’t ever remember drawing these; to her, they just look like a child’s sloppy drawings, so she pushes them aside, trying not to feel guilt at the way Mikoto’s expression drops.

“Will you tell me about her? She’s my sister, but I know nothing of her.”

“Oh!” Mikoto perks up, again, and Corrin watches her with a strange kind of apprehension. It feels odd, to be able to affect the woman so much with a few words… _Have I been so cold that she’s happy at my slightest interest?_ She can’t help but wonder. “Sakura was always lovely. She barely cried in her infancy, which caused us a bit of worry. She’s the youngest and the baby of the family, so I guess you can say that you siblings all doted on her. You’d calm down quite a lot around her because she hated noise. It was about the only way anyone could get you to sit still!”

“Sounds like I was a bit of a brat,” Corrin chuckles, glancing down at one of the pictures, where a badly drawn bundle of pink sat in the arms of an equally badly drawn queen. She sighs. “But, that’s not what I mean… I guess what I’m asking is, what is she like? Tell me about the person she is today. She should be sixteen now, right?”

“Ah,” Mikoto becomes quiet, seeming to realise that Corrin had no interest in the past. It’s not an entirely accurate assumption, but while she _is_ curious, Corrin feels increasingly discontented with every story that she cannot remember. Maybe what she needs is to learn about them as they are _now_ , instead of a lost past she cannot recall. Mikoto’s expression softens in understanding, seeming to know without Corrin ever speaking a word of it. “Well… She will be sixteen next month. Sakura was born in the middle of the cherry blossom season and it will be her coming-of-age this year, so it will be a fairly big event for us and Hoshido.”

“Oh.” Corrin looks down at her tea, suddenly remembering she never really had a ceremony, nor had she ever been allowed to attend one. Her sisters and brothers had made their debut in their respective cotillion balls at fifteen, with the most recent being Elise’s earlier this year. Now twenty, Corrin is well past the age for any formal coming-of-age event. It had always bothered her a bit, though she remembers Camilla was quick to rectify her moroseness by setting up Corrin’s very own ball in the fortress and “inviting” all of their royal retainers to it. (Corrin suspects Camilla intimidated them into attending. It’s an amusing thought.) She had danced so much that day, that she began slipping up and stepping on many a foot. Leo wouldn’t let her near him for a week after that. Corrin smiles. “I should get her something, then. What does she like?”

“Sweets!” Mikoto says without hesitation, clapping her hands and laughing quite girlishly. “There’s nothing that Sakura loves more than sweets. She particularly likes wagashi.”

“Wagashi?”

“A kind of Hoshidan confectionery.”

“Like…um, that dessert I had the other night… Muchi?”

“Mochi. And yes, mochi is a type of wagashi!”

“Hm… But I can’t very well give her food for her coming-of-age, can I?” Corrin muses, baffled.

To this, Mikoto laughs. “I don’t think she’d mind!”

The conversation continues in this vein. She learns that Sakura is a shy young woman, often unassertive but kind and caring almost to a fault. She’s something of a peacemaker within the Hoshidan royal family, the calm foil to her more hot-headed elder siblings.

“But don’t mistake me, Sakura does have a stubborn streak,” Mikoto says at one point, the pride of a mother clear on her face. “It must be a family trait,” she chortles and Corrin wonders if that meant her, as well.

Despite differing personalities, Corrin discovers that Sakura is not so unlike Elise; neither are fighters, preferring to hone their magical ability to heal rather than hurt, and like Elise, Sakura seems to have a dislike for conflict of any sort. She smiles at this and privately thinks they might get along (but then again, Elise gets along with everyone).

Currently, she’s on a pilgrimage to complete her training as a shrine maiden, a journey that Mikoto had apparently taken herself years ago before becoming queen. There are three main shrines that she’s visiting in turn, the last of which is located in the mountain range to the north of Hoshido, to honour the dragon-god and ancestor of Hoshido, the white dragon Byakuya.

“Ordinarily, the trail one takes from one shrine to the next is merely long and tedious, but not treacherous,” Mikoto sighs. “However, with the unpredictable attacks from Nohr, none of us felt safe leaving her to complete the journey alone. Hinoka went with her for protection. I’m afraid I have not yet sent word to them of your return; Sakura needs to complete her pilgrimage before her birthday and I fear Hinoka might rush home if she hears you’re back.”

Hinoka is the eldest princess of Hoshido — and the sibling she had been closest to in her childhood as Kamui. At the age of just twenty-two, she is the commander of Hoshido’s aerial army and widely respected for her combat prowess and leadership. Corrin lets Mikoto regale her with tales of their mischief, of the times she had supposedly led the older girl to steal food from the royal kitchens or play a prank on Ryoma for teasing them. Corrin gapes.

All propriety dropped in her bewilderment, she sits up and splutters, “H—hey, wait, that kinda sounds like… Was I a _bad influence_ on her?”

Mikoto hums, her smile playful. She taps a finger to her chin. “Just a bit?”

“Ugh,” Corrin pulls a face, splaying her hand over her eyes in consternation. “That sounds about right…”

“Don’t look so despondent,” the queen laughs, “Hinoka was much like Sakura in her youth. Timid and afraid to step out of her bubble. You made her brave.”

“That just sounds like a nice way of saying I made her go along with whatever I wanted,” Corrin grumbles, sipping her tea.

“Nonsense. Not even you would’ve been able to move her if she really didn’t want to do something!” Mikoto says jovially, though Corrin sees the exact moment it slips off her features as she ruminates, “That girl… She used to come crying to you whenever she got upset. You taught her to stand up for herself. After your…disappearance, she took your words to heart and tried to emulate you. Hinoka wanted to be strong for you, as you had been for her… So, she stopped crying. Hinoka became a warrior, despite my protests, and swore to someday bring you back to us…”

Unable to respond, Corrin falls silent at this. What is she supposed to say to that? Knowing that this person she can’t recall and hasn’t even met have been so deeply affected by her past self? The guilt she often felt in Ryoma and Mikoto’s presences rises in her chest again and Corrin fights to not choke on it.

“I sound like a pretty bad role model, though,” she ends up joking uselessly, “Should she really be taking after a troublemaker like me?”

Mikoto smiles, not even bothering to deny that she’s been a troublemaker. Instead, she says, “Well, apart from a few isolated incidents, Hinoka hasn’t done _much_ troublemaking. If anything, these children are a bit too serious.”

“Serious? My younger brother, as well?” Corrin asks, thinking of Leo.

“Takumi might be even moreso than the crown prince himself,” Mikoto sighs, a fond but worrisome expression on her features. “He’s only two years younger than you but is already so hard on himself.”

“That sounds familiar,” Corrin mutters to herself. Mikoto looks at her questioningly, but Corrin changes the topic before she can ask. “Is he on a trip, too? I haven’t seen him.”

“Something of that sort. He’s at a training camp along the western border now. Takumi is a perfectionist, so he insists on training his troops himself. I did send him a letter of your return; it should reach him soon.”

It does not surprise Corrin to hear that her eighteen-year-old brother has command of his own troops. Leo was given soldiers for the first time when he was only fourteen; ever since he’d proven himself worthy of Nohr’s legendary tome, he’s been put to work constantly by Garon. She remembers him returning to her fortress after his first mission, Brynhildr in hand. The face he wore was proud, but his eyes…

Corrin says nothing and simply looks at Mikoto. Azura’s words come to mind. _Queen Mikoto is a just and benevolent ruler. King Garon is not._

“What are you thinking?”

“Hm?” Corrin starts. Mikoto tilts her head, her gaze inquisitive.

“Are you thinking of your siblings in Nohr?” She asks, giving her that sympathetic, but sad smile again. Corrin dreads to see it and makes a move to deny, but the queen holds up her hand to stop her. “I understand that it’s been difficult for you to adjust and simply accept what we tell you. It’s natural you would miss the people you’ve grown up with. You needn’t hide that.”

Corrin glances away, feeling like a chastened child, though her words were far from reprimanding. She sighs.

“Did Azura tell you?”

“Azura?” Mikoto questions, sounding genuinely confused. An amused laugh follows. “I can see it from your face, my love.” A hand gently cups her cheek, prompting Corrin to look back at her. “A mother would always understand her child’s heart, no matter their feelings or choices.”

Corrin swallows. Something about those words feels… _loaded_ with hidden meaning… She’s unsure whether to be glad or afraid that Mikoto is able to read her so easily, moreso than even Elise has ever been capable of, but what Corrin does know is that something about Mikoto’s face scares her.

Her face is an open book, full of heart-rending ache, longing and love. Corrin has never had anyone look at her like that, with such intensely raw and honest emotion. It’s not even the expression itself that is scary, but the fact that Corrin can’t tell what reason could be behind it.

_She looks at me like I’ll disappear from her sight again._

_Like this won’t last._

Corrin almost asks. She opens her mouth, only to close it again and swallow her words painfully. _Forget it. I’m being crazy._

Mikoto’s hand drops from her face, instead clasping over Corrin’s hands on the table. She focuses her gaze on that, too afraid to meet Mikoto’s eyes.

“Will you promise me something, my dear?”

Again. Is she avoiding calling her by that Hoshidan name? Perhaps, if a mother were to know her child so well, she could tell Corrin is uncomfortable with it.

Corrin has to clear her throat to speak. “Yes?”

“Whatever path you walk from here on out, promise me that you’ll never lose yourself.”

_What?_

“Lose…myself? What do you mean?”

She doesn’t yet dare look up. Mikoto is quiet, her grasp steady and calm.

_Nothing seems wrong. But then, what is this feeling?_

“You have lived a difficult life,” Mikoto says, hushing her before she could even begin to deny. “The road ahead of you will be arduous. There will be times that you will feel like giving up. You will question if everything you’ve done and went through was worth it… And you will want to give in, to surrender and call it quits. But you must _not_ give up. Do you understand? You must never stop fighting for the things you believe in, for the people you love. Live your life proudly with your head held high and I promise you, all these struggles will be worth it.”

Corrin lets the silence hang heavily between them, confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time,” is the queen’s cryptic response. She sounds tired. Heartbroken. Yet, resolute. “Will you promise me?”

_How can I when I don’t understand?_

“O—okay,” Corrin says instead, unable to say no in the face of her desperation. “I’ll…I’ll try.”

“That is enough,” Mikoto breathes a sigh. “I’m sorry that I’m unable to tell you anything…but please believe me that it will be alright in the end, so long as you do not lose heart.”

Corrin does not answer. The atmosphere is heavy with sorrow and she can’t pinpoint why. _Why is she so sad? Is it because of me?_

But it doesn’t sound like she’s even speaking of the past or Corrin’s lost childhood with the Hoshidans. It sounds like she’s speaking of things yet to come, like there’s something in the future that she has reason to fear.

Without realising, her hands begin to quiver in Mikoto’s grip, caught in an unnamed but terrifying apprehension. Corrin feels like she’s seven, again, staring into the darkness down the hallway and imagining all manner of horrible monsters waiting to snatch her up and drag her into the abyss.

“It’ll be alright,” Mikoto repeats, her grasp still steady and sure as she runs her thumbs over the back of Corrin’s hands soothingly. “Believe in me, if not in yourself. Kamui, Corrin — it matters little what name you bear. You are my daughter and I will always love you, _no matter what_. Remember that.”

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act IV: Wanderer**

It is never mentioned again. Every time after that, whenever Corrin would meet with Mikoto for meals or tea, she would always try to muster up the courage to ask, but never be able to force the words out of her mouth at the sight of the queen smiling adoringly at her.

She alternates the rest of her time between Ryoma and Azura, but never spend time with them together. Corrin gets the sense that Azura is actively avoiding both Mikoto and Ryoma, with how often she finds the other princess by the lake and by the telling way Ryoma carefully inquires of their budding friendship, though she never asks.

As the days count down to Hinoka and Sakura’s return, Corrin spends her afternoons with Ryoma, watching the cherry blossom trees flower one-by-one. Sometimes, they would sit beneath that first tree he had brought her to and eat. He teaches her things, like how to properly hold her chopsticks (up till then, she’s been using them to stab at her food, to the anguish of any Hoshidan’s good sense) and new words and terms in their local tongue.

“Hanami,” he would say, pointing at the flowering trees.

“Hanami,” she would repeat, with a raised brow as he begins to overly enthusiastically praise her good pronunciation, to which she would smile sheepishly and protest, “That’s just one word. It’s not even a sentence.”

“I’ll have to start getting you books, then, if you’re so eager to learn,” he would reply back, with a grin that tells her she just fell into a trap. Corrin could only accept it glumly when he shows up with the promised textbooks the next day and drops them into her lap.

All the while, she says nothing to his casual assumption that she would be staying.

With Azura, she would spend her evenings. Azura is a lot less chatty than Ryoma, more prone to deep introspection and abstract conversations instead of light-hearted banter and teasing. Corrin does, however, smile a lot less around Azura, after the older princess bluntly mentioned that she knows most of them are reflexive, rather than any true indication of her happiness.

“You should only smile when you mean it,” were her exact words, thrown out airily like a fleeting observation of the weather.

While she thinks Ryoma’s company is pleasant, Corrin finds that she is far more relaxed around Azura, perhaps because Azura doesn’t try as hard or have any preconceptions or expectations of how Corrin should act. There are days when they would simply sit on the dock in comfortable silence, their bare feet dipped into the cool lake water up to their ankles.

It is during these moments that Corrin realises, perhaps, that Azura might be like her: aching for company. Plagued with not quite loneliness, but anxiety for simple, basic human contact.

“I once planned an escape from the fortress,” Corrin confides one day, lying her back flat on the dock as her feet dangled into the water below them. The evening sky above is painted in vibrant blues and orange, segueing into splotches of purples like an artful water painting. It doesn’t feel real and she reaches out her hands, as though she could touch it if she tried.

Leaning back on her hands, Azura stares at the same sunset from the reflection of the lake surface. She glances back at her only once, humming.

“Did you succeed?”

“I didn’t go through with it,” she confesses, dropping her hands and folding them over her stomach. “I was afraid the king would put to death the servants and knights who looked after me, if I were to disappear while under their care.”

Azura is quiet for a beat, before sharing her own tale.

“I once planned an escape from the castle.”

“Did you succeed?” Corrin parrots back, laughing.

“Not at first. But then, I finally did, out of sheer dumb luck,” Azura says, gently kicking her feet back and forth in the water and creating ripples. “Although only because I had help from some ninjas.”

Corrin turns on her side, looking at her. “The ones who kidnapped you? You were trying to escape that day?”

“I was,” a smile teases at the corner of her lips. Corrin can’t tell if it’s genuine or sardonic. “What irony, am I right? I’ve never told anyone, before.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never tell anyone. I’ll take it to my grave,” Corrin swears, faux-solemnly. Azura turns her head fully to give her a look that Leo would, the kind that said “are you stupid?” She bursts into laughter at the likeliness.

Azura can only shake her head, sighing at her tomfoolery.

Her laughter dies down quickly and Corrin mimics her sigh, wondering aloud carelessly, “Should I try escaping from here?”

She does not expect Azura to flinch, glancing about restlessly. “Be careful what you say,” she rebukes, lightly kicking the other girl’s shin. The water splashes over her knees. “The ninja will catch you. They’re always watching.”

“They aren’t _now_ ,” Corrin protests, trying to wipe the water off.

“You don’t know that.”

“But I _do_ know.”

“And how would you?”

“Hm… Woman’s intuition?”

Azura gives her that same look once more, deadpanning. “…Are you trying to imply something about me? We’re both women here.”

“Exactly!” Corrin sits up energetically, deliberately raising her voice, “What kind of lout would dare eavesdrop on a private conversation between two ladies!”

“What are you doing,” Azura pulls a face, trying to back away as Corrin leans in close to whisper.

“Do you know Kaze?” She asks, prompting Azura to stop her retreat and turn her gaze to her, curious. Corrin grins. “He’s the one who watches me when I’m not with Ryoma or the queen. No one knows I know, though. But he’s fine; he always keeps a respectable distance.”

Azura stares at her. “And how do you know he’s not hearing this right now?”

“He’s all the way across the lake,” she snorts, waving her hand dismissively, “Unless he’s versed in a specific field of magic… Well, I doubt it.”

Azura does not move her head, but her eyes do dart to the area Corrin had vaguely gestured at. She narrows her eyes but see nothing along the bank, except for a row of trees lining the edge of the lake. It’s certainly a convenient hiding spot. She turns her attention back to the white-haired princess. “And how, exactly, do you know he’s there?”

“When the wind blows westward, it carries his scent,” is her flippant reply. She ponders on how to describe it; Kaze smells faintly of herbs and ointment, though not any kind that she knows of. More than that, there’s something soothing about his presence, too; she knows even less how to describe this, but it is why she tolerates the idea of him shadowing her every movement, though she wishes he would come out and speak with her instead. Corrin doesn’t feel threatened by him. Kaze feels like a guardian, rather than a watcher.

She refocuses her attention on Azura and finds her still openly staring at her, looking quite baffled. Corrin blinks.

“What?”

Azura opens her mouth, closes it, then sighs. “You’re able to pinpoint the location of a man several yards away from us through his scent…and you’re not questioning that at all?”

She shrugs, outwardly aloof but watching Azura’s expressions with amused eyes. “Why would I question something I’ve always been able to do?”

“Well, I suppose when you put it that way…” Azura pauses, then grimaces. “No, wait, don’t act like you’re making sense. You’re not.”

Corrin snickers. “Heehee, sorry. Don’t think about it too hard. I’ve always had sharp senses. It’s probably just my dragon’s blood.”

“Even so, it seems like a strange thing to brush under the rug.”

She snorts. “What do you expect anyone to do about it? Experiment on me?”

“Yes,” is Azura’s blunt admission. Corrin blinks. “Nohr _does_ have its own research division. There are certain things I expect, yes.”

“Well, _I’ve_ never been experimented on,” Corrin scoffs, kicking her feet sullenly and observing the ripples she has made in the water. At the most, Elise had been using her as a subject for her more advanced training, out of medical curiosity for her sharp senses, but it was never painful or even uncomfortable, just diagnostic spells…and it’s _Elise_. She sighs. “You really do think the worst of Nohr.”

“Because the worst of Nohr was what I had seen,” Azura says simply. “I can’t speak of the best of it when I’ve never seen it.”

Corrin has nothing to say to this. She flops back down gracelessly, looking skyward once more. With the sun having disappeared beyond the horizon, it has faded to a twilight blue. The shade is lovely, like the sapphire set into the necklace she’d received for her coming-of-age from Camilla. The thought brings her to dark places, of doubts that have plagued her in recent days since entering the Hoshidan castle, and she stubbornly brushes it off.

“Do you dislike it here?” Azura asks abruptly, breaking her trance. Corrin hesitates, glancing at Azura’s back.

“Not really. It’s nice,” she hums, “The plants here are so colourful and fragrant. Everything here is bright, from the skies to the water to the land and people. It’s beautiful.”

“Then why did you consider escaping? You usually would only escape from places you don’t like.”

Her reply is matter-of-fact. “I leave places I don’t like. I escape places I’m trapped in.”

Azura turns to look at her over her shoulder, her golden-eyed gaze lidded with contemplation.

Trapped. Perhaps the word is too harsh, but as Corrin says it aloud and gives voice to her most private thoughts, she knows it to be true. She knows surely that she would never be allowed to go as she pleases, having been lost to the Hoshidan royal family once. Even her Nohrian siblings act this way — despite their sympathy for her, Corrin is aware that they treat her preciously, like a fragile porcelain doll they must keep in a safe place. If they had things their way, they would not mind keeping her away in the tower. Leo calls it safe. Elise calls it home. Camilla, for all her support, wants nothing more than to keep her tucked away in a corner of the world where nothing could ever reach her or harm her. And Xander — well, Corrin is not sure what he really thinks these days, with how often he simply reiterates whatever Garon has told him.

But Corrin _hates_ it. She knows little of the world but one thing she does know is that she’s never hated anything more in her life. She hates sitting in her tower and watching the world pass her by. She hates doing nothing. She hates that the scenery never changes, that _she_ never changes. As Elise begins to flourish into a young woman, as Xander becomes so tall that he dwarves them all, as Leo’s eyes grow wearier with every mission while something in Camilla lifts with every visit—

_I am the same._

Maybe she never knows how to broach the topic, maybe she doesn’t want them to pity her, maybe she’s just petty because they keep more and more things from her with each passing year— whatever the reason, she never tells them, never even gives a hint of her true feelings. They know, of course, that she’s unhappy with her quarantine, but she doesn’t think they know _how much_ she despises it. And she does.

Viciously, terribly, without reservation or regard. Some days, she wants to scream and lets her piano do it for her, and it would truly feel as though the resentment alone is all she has to keep her warm in that cold. Corrin keeps it in her, unspoken and unacknowledged, tucked away in her heart almost as preciously as they treat her.

It is buried so deep that sometimes, for months at a time, Corrin would be simply fine with it. Fine with being locked in, fine with being stagnant and unchanging, fine with not living. This is how it simply is, she’d tell herself. She makes excuses— at least I am alive ( _am I?_ ), at least I am living well ( _not truly_ ), at least I have people to love ( _then why do they always leave?_ ).

But it is a farce, doomed to break under the strain of her loathing.

Though Hoshido is bright and beautiful in ways that almost hurt, the truth is that it isn’t much different to Corrin, in the sense that she’s been telling herself those excuses recently. At least I’m not dead. At least I wasn’t executed. At least they treat me well.

It chafes her. Having to do this again, to pretend she’s fine with it — how can she live like this?

Corrin doesn’t hate Hoshido. She probably doesn’t even hate Nohr or the Northern Fortress. What she hates is that she can’t leave, that she isn’t here on her own terms. It is an irrational hatred that eats at her like a silent poison, hurting no one but herself.

“Will you go back to Nohr, then, if you could?” Azura asks and it is all Corrin can do to not bare her heart to this strange girl whom she hardly knows but _understands_.

“I don’t know.”

“Then where will you want to go, if not Nohr or Hoshido?”

Corrin looks to the sky, wondering how it might look elsewhere in the world, and breathes, “Wherever I please.”

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act V: Sister Mine**

Things don’t go exactly as planned. It is the day before Hinoka and Sakura’s expected return from the latter’s pilgrimage when it happens. Corrin is having tea with Ryoma and Mikoto in her room, on a rare day where both of them are able to get away from their work at the same time, when Mikoto trails off mid-sentence and looks off into the distance, like she’s been alerted to something. Corrin looks at her curiously, sharing an uneasy glance with Ryoma.

“Okaa-san? What is it?” He asks, reaching across the table to gently take her hand. The queen jolts, snapping out of her daze. She shakes her head, worry creasing her brow.

“Just then… I felt something invade the barrier from the north, near Haku Valley.”

“Haku Valley…?” Ryoma’s expression becomes tense. “…Sakura and Hinoka have to cross it to return here.”

As he stands hurriedly without another word, Corrin sits up, frustrated and unable to follow the conversation. She snags onto his sleeve before he can make to leave, demanding, “What’s happening? What barrier?”

She almost expects him to brush it off and placate her with meaningless words, but Ryoma is more forthright than she gives him credit for. He scowls, deeply displeased, though she can tell it’s not directed at her. “The barrier is how Mother have kept Hoshido safe from Nohr for years. Upon crossing it, it saps the will to fight from their soldiers. Because of that, Nohr hasn’t yet been able to launch a full-scale invasion.”

“Only the Faceless, which have no will of their own and instead act upon the will of the Nohrian mages who create them, are able to get through the barrier and remain a threat,” Mikoto continues, her face grave. She sighs. “Unfortunately, since I’m unable to keep them out…”

“Those foul creatures are the only things Nohr can send past the barrier,” Ryoma finishes, his expression dark. “I have to go. Hinoka went with Sakura alone and they might get outnumbered.”

Corrin doesn’t think about it. She stands up, ignoring the pins and needles lancing through her legs from sitting in seiza for too long. “I’m going with you,” she declares rather than asks, her hand still fisted in the sleeve of his haori. Ryoma looks at her, hesitant, but does not encourage nor deny her.

“There are small villages located along the valley that might be at risk,” Mikoto speaks up, ponderous. “You are strong, Ryoma, but even you cannot march alone. Take her with you.”

Ryoma opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to protest, only to close it with a sigh and nod. He turns to Corrin and smiles. “Very well. I heard you’re good with a sword and this will be a good opportunity for you to see the truth with your own eyes.”

And that’s that. After hurriedly donning their armour, they set out with a small entourage of soldiers tasked with the evacuation of the villages. The rest of the day is a blur to Corrin. Ryoma is a menace on the battlefield; after giving instructions to his men to protect the villagers, he had charged onwards unaided, felling monster after monster. The Faceless, as Corrin learns, are humanoid but grotesque creatures, made of pure muscle and sinew and seemingly engineered with the sole intent to destroy. They roar as they swing their fists, but Ryoma’s strength dwarves theirs to an almost laughable extent and he slays them effortlessly, in his hurry to pave a path to his stranded sisters.

Of those that participate in the battle are Kaze and Rinkah, the latter of which had apparently stayed within Shirasagi on some business between her Fire Tribe and Queen Mikoto. Corrin is surprised to hear this, given that she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the tribal woman during her stay. Kaze stays close by Corrin’s side throughout the entire affair, using strange star-shaped daggers to guard her back as she leaps into the fray and cuts down the stragglers that managed to survive Ryoma’s onslaught.

As the sun begin to dip and she slowly closes the distance between herself and Ryoma, Corrin realises quickly what is stopping his advancement — snow. Heaps and hills of snow. Haku Valley is different from Hoshido’s capital in that it is located by a snow-capped mountain range. This particular area is where all the snow goes when an avalanche occurs and, by the looks of it, it is what protects the villages further down the range from such incidents by acting like a natural trench.

Corrin casts her senses about, feeling something nearby resonate within her. It is the tell-tale energy of a Dragon Vein, buried deep within the snow. Reaching out, she hooks her hand into the crook of Ryoma’s elbow, halting his advance.

“Kamui? What is it?”

Corrin pauses, lips pursed, before blurting, “Why don’t we just melt off the snow?”

He takes a moment to think. “What do you have in mind? My Raijinto would be able to melt it, but not quickly enough to make much of a difference, and I don’t think Rinkah will be able to perform a feat of that magnitude…”

Corrin looks at him strangely. “You can’t feel it? There’s several Dragon Veins around here. We can use those.”

Perhaps it shouldn’t come as such a surprise, given how often it is explained to her that her potential for utilising Dragon Veins is greater than the average royal, but it still baffles Corrin that Ryoma failed to sense it. He tells her that there have only been rumours that Dragon Veins were located there, remnants of Dragonborn who had fell during the ancient War of the Dragons, and expresses surprise that she had found them at all.

“But they must be faint, now, after so many centuries have passed.”

“Let’s try, anyway,” she replies, planting Ganglari into the snow at her feet and surging energy through the ethereal blade. She feels the Dragon Vein pulse in response, reaching back for her, and _grabs_ it. The world around her blurs and sharpens rapidly, dizzyingly. Suddenly, she is the earth, the layers of snow, the frigid air itself. It’s difficult to not lose herself in it, to pull her consciousness back into her body and remind herself who she _is_. Hoarfrost on the deadened trees, the rush of Ryoma’s blood, his exhaled breath rapidly rising before cooling, each individual speck of snow that covered the frozen soil — differentiating it all feels as impossible as trying to detangle a ball of yarn. Painstakingly, she filters out everything inanimate, until the only sensations left are those of life.

Something profane emanates from the east. The monsters… She would need to be careful which pathways she should open and which should stay blocked. Further north, there is a touch of something soft and genteel, like the fluffy cakes Flora would bake for special occasions. Beside it is a sharper feeling, like a furnace—warm and inviting, yet ready to spiral into an inferno upon provocation.

She found them, she’s sure of it. Despite the differences from Ryoma’s coal and flint, there is an unnamed likeness that tells her those are his sisters. Corrin scouts the area around them and hisses through her teeth. They’re surrounded. She’ll definitely have to burn their way through, now, if Ryoma is to reach them in time…

The only problem is the risk of _avalanche_. The layers of snow in this entire mountain range are loose — few must travel here, for it to be so unstable. If she lets the heat go out of control, it’ll escape into the air and off-set the temperature of the atmosphere. There’s a distinct possibility that this would be enough to destabilise the snow and cause an eventual avalanche.

_Ugh, why would anyone even settle here, when the capital is about a day’s travel away?_ Corrin allows herself a moment to gripe, before putting all her concentration into her next task.

Pulling the energy in the general direction of the princesses, she settles it beneath the huge hill of snow and lets it _build_. She has to do this right. Even if the Hoshidan soldiers are currently evacuating the people, their houses are still here and she can’t render them homeless.

Shutting out all physical senses, Corrin inhales and holds her breath, her forehead pressed hard against the pommel of her sword as she focuses. She spreads the energy, but maintains a tight hold of it, and bides her time until it is barely within the scope of her control. In a flash, Corrin lets it _go_ , evaporating the entire hill of snow within seconds, before pushing it back down and snuffing out the heat.

She pauses a beat, feeling the temperature around her. Her skin prickles.

_It’s okay. It’s stable._ Corrin sags with a sigh. _I did it._

Ears twitching, Corrin senses Rinkah’s approach long before ever hearing her gasp. “Did you see that?! Incredible… So that’s the might of the Dragonborn. I had no idea…”

“Yes,” is Kaze’s ponderous reply, “To harness the powers of the ancient dragons is truly a magnificent gift. Yet, such power… I wonder if even the royals can fully control it…”

“You needn’t worry,” Corrin calls, getting up and flashing a confident smile to him. “I’ve honed this power my entire life. I won’t slip up.”

He appears surprised that she’d heard him at all. Kaze lowers his chin respectfully, chastened. “Of course, milady. I did not mean to doubt your capabilities.”

Corrin waves it off, starting when a hand lands on her shoulder. Ryoma grins at her.

“I’m impressed. Well done, Kamui! I’ll be going ahead to aid Hinoka. Will you be able to hold up here?”

“Ah… Yeah, sure.” Corrin watches him rush off, having neglected to tell him that there are more Faceless sequestered in another region. She turns to Rinkah and Kaze. “Alright, we should go, too. Will you come with me?”

They agree without asking for clarification — which she thinks they might’ve regretted when she leads them over another hill, directly to a small pack of Faceless, each more powerful than the ones previously encountered. Corrin likens them to animals and pinpoints one as the alpha. She cringes at the sight of it, watching green slime drool out of the holes in its mask, but makes quick work of it. For all the horror they present themselves as, they don’t seem very capable of thinking at all, charging at her with wild abandon — as best as they’re able through the snow, anyway.

High on adrenaline, Corrin is light on her feet as she weaves through the hulking monsters to reach the leader. Side-stepping a fist, she aims for its joints, striking the knee and causing it to collapse. This allows her a clear shot of the head and she wastes not a moment, cleaving Ganglari clean through its neck. With the loss of their leader, the rest visibly flounder; it becomes a simple matter to dispatch them, after that.

“Is that all of them?” Rinkah calls, gruffly, kicking over one carcass and making a face at it. It has been charred by Rinkah’s fire magic and Corrin scrutinises it, before determining the heat from Rinkah’s attacks won’t be enough to cause a prominent shift in the temperature.

Looking away, Corrin searches the area, red eyes keenly surveying their surroundings. “Looks like it.” She sighs, turning her attention to Kaze. “Does this happen often?”

His face is grim and his answer is immediate. “I’m afraid so. They’re not always organised attacks, however. The Faceless are known to sometimes turn on their masters. From the look of it, these ones were rogues. They had a clear leader among them, so it’s unlikely a mage was behind it.”

Corrin makes a disgusted noise. Is this what the research division that Azura had mentioned have been up to? It seems like a waste of resources to make these things, when they were so vile and volatile.

_Better them than me, I guess,_ this sardonic thought come to her unbidden and Corrin brushes it away, dread chilling her spine at the mere idea.

Preparing to make her way back down the hill, she turns away from the corpses and, as she does, the whinny of a horse sounds overhead. Curious, Corrin looks up and stares in blank shock at the _flying horse_ circling in the air. She gapes at it.

All thoughts fly out of her head. Corrin’s back straightens and stars are in her eyes as she yells like an excited child, “ _Pegasus!_ ”

Her companions are stupefied by this sudden outburst, regarding her with confusion.

“Yes, that’s a pegasus…” Rinkah says slowly, her tone dry. “They’re common in Hoshido. Have you never seen one?”

Corrin is too thrilled to bother with a smart reply. “No!”

The other woman huffs, shouldering her club. “You really are sheltered…”

Corrin doesn’t even hear her, too enraptured by the sight of the creature. It is pure white and its wings are large and feathered, like that of an angel. To a girl who has lived all her life in Nohr and only learnt of the world through books, it is something of a mythical sight to her, almost as unbelievable as the trees of pink.

“Your Highness!” Kaze calls, sounding both surprised and relieved. Not realising he could be addressing someone else, Corrin blinks and takes her eyes off the equine, her attention redirected to him.

“Kaze? What is it—”

She’s interrupted by the muted sound of hooves on snow. A person leaps off the pegasus in a hurry and all Corrin manages to make of them is a shock of _red_ , before a body _slams_ into her. Corrin stumbles, choking from both the impact and her shock, and almost falls if not for the arms enveloping her in a tight, painful grasp.

“ _Kamui_ ,” the woman breathes, her voice strained with emotion, as she presses herself close to her with desperate relief. “ _I’ve missed you!_ ”

_Ah,_ Corrin thinks quietly, her heart dropping. _This must be…_

“Hinoka! Don’t just fly off like that!” Ryoma shouts from a distance, sounding exasperated. Corrin looks over the woman’s shoulder, taking in the sight of the small girl whom he carried in his arms, her hair as pink as the cherry blossoms. Her ankle is hastily bandaged and clearly sprained, and the festal in her hands is splintered, exhausted of its magic. Corrin locks eyes with her hesitant gaze and sees the girl seemingly shrink in her brother’s hold, tucking her flustered face close and whispering softly to him. Ryoma laughs heartily at whatever she says, his voice joyful as he declares, “Yes, that’s her, that’s Kamui—”

She’s prevented from eavesdropping further when the redhead pulls back and looks at her very closely, as though cataloguing every detail of her face. Though Corrin is not an easily abashed person, this blatant scrutinising embarrasses even her and she flusters, yelping when the other woman holds her face between her hands.

“It really is you,” Hinoka murmurs. Corrin can’t find the heart to pull away, hearing the quiver in her voice and seeing the wetness in her eyes. She can’t help but focus on them. _Red_. They’re almost as red as Corrin’s own eyes.

_The others don’t have red eyes,_ she cannot help but think, of Camilla’s lilac and Elise’s amethyst irises, of Leo’s hazel gaze. Xander’s come the closest in resemblance, but even his are a dark maroon — more a rich mahogany brown than red under the light.

She remembers asking about it once, only to be told that her bright red eyes are another evidence of the potency of her dragon’s blood… But, looking at Hinoka, now, Corrin can’t help but doubt that’s all there is to it.

“I’m sorry,” the words slip out of her. Hinoka draws back, lips parted in surprise as her hands drop to hold Corrin’s shoulders.

“Sorry?” She whispers, her voice soft, only to raise in volume with her next words, impassioned and indignant. “What do you have to apologise for? It’s not your fault! It’s all because of _those Nohrians!_ They took you away, they did this! _I’ll never forgive them_.” The sheer hatred in her voice chills Corrin and she shivers involuntarily. Hinoka quickly softens, speaking shakily, “But…but it doesn’t matter now. You’ve returned to us—after all these years—you’ve…you’ve finally come back—!”

Corrin grimaces. “No, I mean—” What did she mean? Sorry I’m not the person you expect. Sorry I don’t remember you. Sorry I’m not your sister. She can’t bring herself to say any of that, not yet. Corrin swallows and settles on another truth. “You’re…crying. Because of me.”

“That’s—” Hinoka blurts, then laughs with such _elation_ that Corrin feels compelled to return the gesture when she is pulled into another hug. “These are tears of joy! I swear I’m not a cry-baby anymore. I’m just… _so happy_.”

Corrin can’t bring herself to say a thing, settling into the embrace almost solemnly. She brings her hands up to lock behind Hinoka’s back and closes her eyes, trying to stir any feelings of comfort or familiarity.

_Something, anything…_ She silently pleads, unsure which god would even hear her. The Dawn? The Dusk?

But like water through her open fingers, everything slips away. Her head throbs.

_Nothing._

“I’m sorry,” Corrin repeats, unable to elaborate. She remembers Mikoto and Ryoma’s expressions of devastation and finds herself hating the idea of putting that look on one more person’s face.

Hinoka doesn’t get the chance to reply. Ryoma slowly reaches them, sighing. “Hinoka, let’s give her a little room. I think you’re overwhelming her.”

Though Corrin knows what he means by this, Hinoka, who doesn’t seem aware of her amnesia, doesn’t think too deeply about this. She wipes her tears and lets go, turning around to raise an accusing brow at him.

“Of course _you_ would say that. You’ve been hogging her while we’ve been gone, haven’t you?”

“Wha—I have _not!_ ” He has, taking as much time as a crown prince possibly could to be in her presence, but it isn’t like Corrin would tell her that. She simply watches the exchange, faintly amused by the tell-tale signs of a sibling squabble brewing. “Okaa-san said not to tell you, yet. She was afraid you’d rush home—quite rightly, since you’d abandoned Sakura and I the very _moment_ I let it slip Kamui was here—”

Corrin stops listening, noticing the young girl in Ryoma’s arms sighing with fond exasperation as they bicker over her head. Noticing her stare, the girl blushes bashfully, averting her eyes only to sneak wide-eyed, curious glances at her.

Corrin smiles and waves. Hesitantly, the girl ducks her head and waves back. It’s a bit… _cute_.

“Uh, not to interrupt this touching family reunion,” Rinkah suddenly speaks up, looking uncomfortable with the scene they must be making. “But since we’ve rescued the princesses and wiped out those monsters, we’re done here, right? Shouldn’t we get going?”

“Oh,” Ryoma nods, his spine straightening as he acknowledges her. Corrin notes that he treats her very respectfully, like an equal. It makes sense, since she vaguely remembers the woman proudly declaring herself as the daughter of the Chieftain of the Fire Tribe back at Krakenburg. “Yes, of course. We should return to the castle now.”

“Ugh, yeah, let’s go home,” Hinoka groans, not sounding very much like a princess should. She turns back to Corrin and grabs her hand, pulling her along like they’re young children. Corrin passively allows this, too distracted by the strange feeling of déjà vu as she stares at Hinoka’s hand intertwined with hers.

_Warm hands,_ she notes, _Running down the halls… Hand-in-hand… Why did I suddenly think of that?_

Ryoma’s exasperated voice breaks through her reverie. “Hinoka, your _pegasus_ ,” he chides.

Hinoka does not seem to hear him at all, tugging Corrin ahead with a stubborn grip. Though she lets her, Corrin glances back at the magnificent creature being tended to by Kaze, almost tempted to go to it so she can pet it and coo sickeningly at it, but thinks vaguely that she probably shouldn’t show more interest in the equestrian than in her own sister.

_Hallways of light, wooden floorboards beneath our feet. Running, laughing. Running, running… Where? To who?_

It slips away from her, again, like an indistinct shape through a Nohrian winter’s fog. Out of reach. Corrin blinks hard, trying to not react as pain lances through her head. She pushes down the irritation flaring in her. _Why can’t I remember? There’s something…but I can’t…_

She hates it. The little that she was able to recover were vague feelings and impressions, nothing concrete. Their names, their faces—none of it exist in her memory. It’s like there’s a gulf between her and the world around her that she cannot cross. Though Hinoka is so close, her hand clasped in her own, it feels like there’s an entire ocean between them.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Hinoka tells her, whispers it like a secret, and it is all Corrin can do to simply smile.

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act VI: Fracture**

Carmine eyes. Like Hinoka, Sakura’s eyes are a subdued shade of red, like the sunrises in Hoshido or the colour of raspberry tea. It is not an intimidating colour on the younger girl, the way it is in Hinoka’s fierce gaze or Corrin’s prodding stares, perhaps due to the fact that Sakura hardly meets the eyes of others at all, often keeping her head down.

“Hello,” Corrin is the first to say, smiling and trying to appear as unassuming as possible to set the girl at ease.

“Hello,” the girl squeaks back, shifting nervously on her feet. “Wel…welcome back, onee-sama.”

Corrin blinks, before recalling from Ryoma’s lessons that it is the Hoshidan way to address an elder sister. She smiles back gently. “Thank you.”

It is all Sakura can manage before she withdraws skittishly, her cheeks aflame. Mikoto, overseeing this meeting between sisters, chuckles.

“She’s just shy,” the queen would later tell her, as Corrin stares moodily at her Hoshidan tea, “Just give it time. She’ll warm up quickly.”

Corrin would later hear this being paraphrased, regarding the younger prince of the Hoshidan royal family. Only a day after Hinoka and Sakura’s arrival, Prince Takumi returns to the castle in full gear, having just taken a long trip back from a fort by the border. Corrin is not in the palace to greet him at the time, having went out to rendezvous with Azura by the lake as she always does; what she does return to is an empty dining hall. She’s baffled by this, until she remembers Ryoma’s promise.

“I’ll tell Hinoka when Takumi comes back,” he had assured her, in regards to her lost memory, seeming to understand her concerns without Corrin ever needing to bring it up. “It’d be best for them to hear it together.”

“Thank you,” she could only sigh, dreading how Hinoka and this unknown brother might look at her when they find out. She’s not worried about Sakura, as the girl had been too young to remember her in their childhood; memory or no memory, building a relationship with Sakura would still require them to learn about each other as they are now, rather than superimpose the past over the present. This is not the case with Sakura’s elder siblings, all of whom would be old enough to remember “Kamui” and only think of her when they see Corrin.

Corrin eats dinner alone, staying away from the Royal Throne Room, and studiously ignores the unintelligible shouts of rage and crying she can hear through the walls. Hinoka, who have been stuck at her hip since their meeting, doesn’t visit her that night.

The next morning has Mikoto summoning her to the throne room and it is there she finally meets the wayward brother. Takumi’s gaze is frosty as she enters, hawk-like as he scrutinises her every movement. He looks at her like an archer looks at game and, wildly, she imagines him aiming the bow he holds at her.

What strikes Corrin as ironic is that, despite his lukewarm reception to her, he bares even more physical resemblance to her than either of the princesses. His eyes are a deep amber red, only a shade’s difference from her crimson, and just as bright on his face as her eyes are on hers. His hair, only tamed by the double-knot ponytail he has put it in, is as pale as her flaxen locks, a silvery light brown like the snow-caked pinecones that fall off the trees which grow around her fortress. A small button nose, the low bridge, the slope of his jaw — they could be twins, Corrin thinks, if not for the paleness of her skin and the sun-kissed tone of his.

Without thinking, she had stopped and stared at him, Mikoto’s introductions completely flying over her head.

He breaks the spell by sighing under his breath, begrudgingly saying, “Welcome home, nee-san.”

Corrin starts. “I—it’s good to be back.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes roving over her form and narrowing at the hint of Nohrian armour he sees peeking from beneath her Hoshidan fabrics. She gets the distinct impression that he wants to say something about it, only to glance in Mikoto’s direction like remembering the queen is still there. He shakes his head, addressing the woman. “Hahaue, may I be excused? It’s been a long journey home and I would like to rest for the time being.”

Mikoto smiles, patting his arm. “Of course. I’m sorry for summoning you so early, Takumi.”

“It’s nothing,” Takumi says, his entire expression softening as he smiles. He looks like a different person from the surly, cold prince who had greeted her mere moments ago and Corrin watches this interaction curiously, as he leans in to very quickly kiss the queen on the cheek, before sweeping out of the throne room. Corrin stares after him, wondering if she’d ever come to share a close relationship with the queen as he clearly does with her.

It is a thought to ponder on another time, as Mikoto walks to her and greets her with the usual embrace. “I’m sorry about Takumi. Give it time; he’ll come around eventually.”

Corrin returns the hug on reflex, murmuring, “I take it they didn’t receive the news well?”

Mikoto hums in her ear, before pulling away. “They took it as well as they could have.”

“I heard them screaming last night,” she confesses, pausing briefly as she tries to search her memory for Takumi’s voice. “Well, just Hinoka, really.”

“Yes, well,” Mikoto winces, sighing. “It took Ryoma and I some time to calm her down. She wanted to fly to Nohr and—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Never mind that. How are you, my heart? Did we keep you up?”

“No,” she lies, closing her eyes and leaning into her touch as the woman strokes her cheek tenderly. “I slept fine.”

Mikoto hums, seeming to believe it, until she brushes the skin below Corrin’s eyes. Corrin flinches, forgetting to check earlier if she had eye bags before coming out of her room, but the queen says nothing of it and smiles wanly. “My dear daughter… Will you do something for me?”

Corrin opens her eyes, frowning. “What is it?”

Mikoto lets her hand drop, turning away to look up at the throne. Corrin follows her gaze. It is finely crafted, made of what appears to be white stone and shining like marble. Despite being the seat of the reigning monarch, it is not extravagant and instead simple and humble in design. Mikoto gestures her forward and when Corrin steps closer, she can feel a distinct shift in the air, like it is cloaked in old magic.

It is similar to the feeling she gets when she comes close to Brynhildr or Siegfried. Though benign and unthreatening, it gives her pause.

_There’s something ancient about it,_ she notes, nearly drawing back. Despite her closeness to the brothers, she would never touch Xander or Leo’s sacred weapons, understanding innately that they’re not things to be used, but to be respected and treated with caution. It is the same with this throne. It is not something she should approach casually.

“Hm, you felt that, did you?” Mikoto smiles, pride in her eyes.

“What is it? It’s not just a throne, is it?”

“Not quite,” she chuckles, stepping even closer to lay a hand on one of the arm rests. The queen turns to look down at her from atop the dais. “The Hoshidan Throne is also a Throne of Truth. Long ago, it was a gift to Hoshido from another land as an act of goodwill…”

She pauses here, staring at the throne with a strange look in her eyes. It looks like yearning, or perhaps regret, but it vanishes before Corrin could tell if it’s one or the other.

Mikoto looks back to her, explaining quietly, “This throne has been blessed with the power of purification. It is said that all who seat on it cannot lie and it is how every ruler, myself and every king and queen before me, have ruled with a fair hand.”

Corrin is silent, not understanding where she’s going with this. Mikoto sighs heavily, gaze downcast.

“But that’s not the full extent of its power. The Throne of Truth is also able to break illusions…cut through deception…return one to their true form.”

“It can break spells,” Corrin surmises, her blood running cold as everything clicks in her mind. “You want me to sit in it.”

Mikoto only looks at her, her expression complicated. “Will you?”

_Will I?_

She could do it. She could find out once and for all, if the Nohrians really had brainwashed her like Ryoma has been claiming, if she were to just sit in it. She could recover her every lost memory, everything that has been sealed in her mind, lingering just out of her grasp. She could become Kamui, the sister of the Hoshidan royals, Mikoto’s daughter, the Lost Princess of Hoshido.

But what would become of Corrin?

What is she to do if Xander really _had_ brainwashed her? What is she to do if Camilla had played a part in it? If they really had betrayed her with smiles on their faces, if they had preyed upon her mind, took it apart and rearranged it to their liking?

Corrin doesn’t want to find out. It could be that they had nothing to do with it, that it’s all just the machinations of Nohr or a convenient accident, but she doesn’t want to _know_. Most of all, she’s afraid of further fracturing herself. Corrin, Kamui. Kamui, Corrin. She’s both of them but neither at the same time and she thinks she might go _crazy_ if she sits on the throne, if Corrin doesn’t disappear and she’s left doubting who she _is_ all over again.

She steps away, stumbling, and falls to her knees. She can’t breathe.

Mikoto gasps. She calls what sounds like a name, but Corrin can’t hear it through the blood rushing in her ears, can’t _think_ anything beyond the fact that she feels like she’s _dying_. There’s a hazy glow at her side as magic floods her system, calming and soothing, and her blurring eyesight re-sharpens. She’s in the throne room once more, with the Hoshidan queen hovering over her with a staff in hand. The woman is crying, cradling her close and whispering apologies.

“I can’t,” Corrin chokes out, hysterical. “I’m sorry…but I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want… Please. _I can’t…!_ ”

“Shh,” Mikoto hushes, smiling tearfully. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to. I won’t force you.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, finally breaking down as her facade of calmness she’s been maintaining this entire while shatters like glass. “ _I’m sorry_.”

From then on, Mikoto never brings up the throne, again.

Though remembrance of the incident would bring an embarrassed flush to her features, Corrin can’t help but think it might be for the better that it happened. Since bursting into tears, she finds it easier to express herself freely to the woman, no longer hiding behind pressed smiles. Encouraged by this, Mikoto has similarly opened up, less forced in her affections and taking to spending even more time with her.

On second thought, the latter might actually be a bit bad.

“Is it really all right for you to take a day off?” Corrin asks hesitantly, glancing behind them to see her advisor, Yukimura, teeter precariously beneath the weight of the stack of scrolls and reports in his arms. “…Again?”

“It’s fine!” Mikoto laughs, looping her arm around hers like they’re little girls. Corrin stares at her, still baffled by the childish streak in the usually regal woman. “He’ll be able to handle it. Don’t worry about it!”

Still, Corrin feels guilty for refusing to do the one thing that could bring back all of her memories as Kamui, and feels that guilt compounding every time she sits with Ryoma beneath the trees learning to read and speak Hoshidan. Hinoka takes longer than her brother or mother, but she eventually bounces back, barging into Corrin’s room one night with a dozen pillows. Hinoka braids her hair, murmuring confessions of how she had cut her own hair and vowed to never let it grow until she returned.

“Will you grow it back out, then?” Corrin asks, perfectly tame and still as Hinoka struggles with her mane, complaining that it’s almost as wild as Ryoma’s.

“Maybe,” Hinoka mutters, after a short pause, “I’ll think about it. I mean, I’ve already gotten used to this length.”

“It’d look beautiful if you do,” Corrin says kindly. “With that shade of red, it’d be like a waterfall of fire.”

Hinoka freezes, her fingers caught in a knot, before laughing lowly. “You used to say that back then, too.”

She could not reply.

Azura, she discovers, is much closer to Sakura than the other siblings. Sometimes, the younger girl would join them by the dock, dipping their toes in the water as they chatted about anything under the sun. Corrin and Azura no longer have their long, introspective exchanges about Nohr or Hoshido or freedom, at least not in Sakura’s presence, but despite her timidity, the youngest princess brings a certain new tranquillity to their conversations. Corrin doesn’t push her, letting Sakura gradually open up in her own time, and it isn’t long before the girl smiles at her as easily as she would to Azura. It is easy to relax around her, to let her guard down and simply _be_ , and so Corrin returns the favour by not forcing her smiles as much.

“Ryoma-niisama has been wondering why you’ve been avoiding him and okaa-sama,” Sakura says one day, surprisingly candid despite her shy personality. Azura doesn’t avoid the question so much as pretends not to hear it at all, throwing a hand over her eyes to block out the sun. Corrin raises a brow at the other princess, sharing a look with Sakura.

“I’ve been wondering, too,” Corrin says, tickling her side. Azura sighs, batting her hand away and cracking an eye open to send a faintly annoyed look at her. Corrin grins. “Don’t be grouchy. It’s a reasonable question.”

Azura presses her lips into a thin line, not looking at Sakura’s curious gaze. Her voice is carefully toneless as she says, “Isn’t it for the best? They’ve lost so much time with you; they should spend all they have with you.”

Corrin’s mouth falls open. “Wait. You’ve been avoiding them, refusing dinner with the family, because of _me?_ ”

Azura sits up and opens her mouth to answer, but doesn’t get to before Sakura’s bursts out adamantly, “They wouldn’t want that!”

“S—Sakura?” Azura jumps, wide-eyed. Corrin stares at her, a bit mystified by her startled expression, too used to the princess’s characteristic deadpans and unruffled demeanour.

“They wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re unwanted,” Sakura says sadly, looking dangerously close to tears. “Even if Kamui-neesama is back now… It doesn’t mean you’re no longer part of our family. Won’t you come back?”

Amused, Corrin watches Azura’s face as she struggles with her words. She’s blushing at Sakura’s proclamation and, chastened by her words and fearful of her tears, Azura starts joining them for dinner that night.

Unlike the rest, Takumi has kept his distance. Corrin is not sure what to feel about that. On one hand, she’s glad that she doesn’t have to pretend around him nor fight with her guilt as she would around Ryoma or Hinoka, but on the other hand, she wonders if she could become close to him as she is now with Azura and Ryoma. He’s not outwardly hostile to her, though she can’t help but think he must only be holding back out of regard for the queen and his elder siblings.

That being said, he’s most definitely not friendly. He maintains a middle ground of detached politeness to her, watching her like she’ll turn around and put a knife to his throat if he’s not careful. He scowls when she drops her chopsticks or mispronounces a Hoshidan word and — if she keeps her eyes peeled — there’d be a flash of bitter disappointment in his eyes before it melds into resentment when he observes her, like he’s expecting her to do something in a specific way and she’s somehow failed to live up to his expectations of how she should act — like he’s waiting for her to be “Kamui” but instead got a cheap imitation in his sister’s place.

He confirms this for her, when he would sometimes let a bit of sarcasm seep into his voice as he calls her “nee-san,” making it glaringly obvious that he considers her anything but.

“Kagero said she delivered the message to you only a week after Kamui’s return, but that you refused to come back until now,” she overhears Ryoma confront him in the halls one day, clearly crossed with the younger prince. “Takumi. Do you not want her here?”

“Nii-san, don’t be dramatic. I had to finish training. How would it look to the troops if I stop and wasted everyone’s time, because of personal matters?” Takumi sighs, before snidely tacking on, “Besides, it’s not like she’s going anywhere, right?”

“Takumi…”

His next words are deceptively casual. “Although, from the looks of things, it might very well be the opposite.”

Ryoma is silent, his voice dangerously low as he says, “What are you implying?”

The younger man scoffs. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just from looking at her face…she doesn’t want to be here at all.”

“That’s not—”

“You _know_ it, I know you do,” Takumi hisses, drawing his haori close around himself, “She’s become one of them. A Nohrian. For all we know, she could be biding her time, waiting to run back to her _true_ home, and that would _break_ our mother. And you? Hinoka? How would either of you react when that inevitably happens? Don’t get too close to her, nii-san. She’ll hurt you.”

Ryoma’s glare freezes on his face as he looks over Takumi’s shoulder, locking eyes with her. He gasps. “Kamui—”

Voice raising, Takumi shouts, “Don’t you get it? She’s not _Kamui_ anymore—”

“Takumi, _be quiet_ — Kamui!”

She turns and flees, finding Azura’s room and barging in without a word. The sky-haired princess, strumming an unfamiliar, small harp-like instrument by her window, jumps.

“Kamui?”

“Don’t you have retainers?” Corrin rushes, shutting the door behind her. “How am I able to get in so easily without being threatened with death? We should get you a retainer.”

“Kamui,” Azura says slowly, putting aside the instrument. Gathering her skirts, she turns on the floor, unimpressed. “I’m not going to pretend you didn’t come in uninvited or like you’re testing my defences, just because you’ve started talking about retainers. Come here. Why are you so upset?”

Azura pats the space beside her, watching her steadily until Corrin gives in and hesitantly joins her on the porch. She gazes out into what appears to be a garden. It has a particularly fancy arrangement of smooth, rounded rocks — another unfamiliar Hoshidan thing, she can’t help but think in a mix of self-annoyance and regret. She sighs. “Seriously, it was way too easy to get into your room.”

“I’ve no reason to have a retainer. The royal family’s kindness aside, I _am_ still a hostage.” That is as far as Azura allows, before she says sharply, “Now, tell me why you’re really here.”

“I don’t know,” Corrin sighs. “Why am I still here? You know, ordinarily, a person would try to escape when they get kidnapped.”

“Because you don’t want to return to Nohr,” Azura pinpoints succinctly. Corrin does not deny.

“Garon might put me in a tower, again,” Corrin mutters, looking up at the clear sky and wondering absently when she’d stopped calling him Father.

“And you also don’t want to be here,” Azura continues, like she hasn’t spoken.

“And maybe I would, if I sat on that damned throne,” Corrin groans, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t know. I want to stay as Corrin, but I want my memories of Kamui. I’m afraid of being Kamui, but I don’t want to be in Nohr. Ugh, I don’t _know_ what I want. I just…”

Azura interjects, “Throne? Are you speaking of the royal throne?”

“Yes. The one that looks like marble? The queen said it’s a Throne of Truth, given to Hoshido by another country,” Corrin says slowly. Azura’s expression is complicated and indecipherable as she hears this. “She said it would return my memories… Azura? What’s wrong?”

Azura is silent for a long moment. She clears her throat. “It’s nothing. I just…haven’t heard that story before.” Corrin stares at her, getting the feeling she’s not saying everything, but Azura diverts the topic. “And you refused to sit in it?”

“Something like that,” she dodges the question, not wanting to recount her panic attack. “But it feels wrong, still. Being Corrin and staying in Hoshido… Ryoma has been patient with me, but Takumi… He saw through me.”

“Don’t take it to heart,” Azura sighs, smiling wryly. “Takumi might seem prickly, but he’s just trying to protect his family. He was young when his father died in the Cheve Deception, so he associates everything Nohr to be a threat to his family.”

“And I’m very Nohrian,” Corrin finishes, bitterly, before laughing self-depreciatingly, “You must think I’m being wishy-washy. I should just make up my mind instead of whining about it, huh?”

“No,” Azura murmurs, shifting out of seiza to draw her legs up and hug them. “I think your fears are reasonable. It’d be odder if you really did take things in stride, like you’re trying so hard to pretend to.”

“Gee, thanks,” Corrin gripes, rolling her eyes. Azura tilts her face to her.

“Don’t feel forced to sit in the throne. I’m sure your memories will return in time.”

“And when it does?” Corrin sighs. “I’ll be Kamui, but what of Corrin?”

“You won’t lose your memories of being Corrin. Why should you place your identity in what you call yourself? They’re just names. Just be you.”

Corrin stares at her. “That’s the most inspiring cop-out answer I’ve ever heard—”

Azura laughs and, in that moment, everything almost feels fine.

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act VII: Shatter**

Corrin avoids both Ryoma and Takumi after that, though it is admittedly not very hard to avoid the latter when he seems to be doing the exact same thing. Ryoma requires a little creativity, given his persistence, but all it takes is a question to Kaze for her to know the crown prince’s breaks away from his duties. During those periods of time, Corrin would latch onto Azura.

“Why me?” Azura asks tiredly when she finds out.

“You _did_ successfully avoid both him and Queen Mikoto for almost a whole month. You have to admit that’s kinda impressive, given that you’re living in the same place.”

Azura can only frown, realising she’s been somehow branded an expert on avoidance. In spite of her open disapproval, the princess nonetheless puts up with her sudden clinginess, perhaps because she’d be a hypocrite to launch into a lecture of running away.

Sakura, thankfully, does not bring it up. Corrin can only thank her lucky stars that Ryoma has yet to pull the same thing with her as he had with Azura; despite her amusement with Azura’s plight at the time, Corrin doesn’t think she’d fare much better at the sight of Sakura’s tears. It’s a bit of a dirty move, in all honesty, and it’s something _Leo_ would’ve done with Elise if Corrin got angry with him.

_I thought he was a bit like Xander or Camilla, but… Maybe his way of thinking resembles Leo more._

Unfortunately, dinner is the only time it would be impossible to avoid him. Luckily, neither Takumi or Ryoma seem intent on bringing up how they’ve made her upset in the presence of Mikoto, perhaps out of fear of her disappointment. Just like that, Corrin keeps up the appearance of getting along with them for a few days. If Mikoto notices anything strange, she studiously ignores it.

“I was thinking we should officially announce the return of our princess,” Mikoto says one night, daintily chewing through her rice before continuing, “There have been rumours as of late and we should address them soon. It will be a joyous occasion when we make the announcement, so we will throw a festival to celebrate.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Corrin hedges cautiously, carefully not looking at Takumi. It’s hard, when he’s just across her, seated between Hinoka and Sakura. “Isn’t it Sakura’s coming-of-age this month? I don’t want my return to overshadow it…”

Sakura smiles, seeming to beam at her remembrance despite the shyness of her expression. “It’s fine! I don’t mind…”

“It was actually her suggestion,” Ryoma speaks up, looking proudly at his youngest sister. Sakura flushes, ducking her head bashfully. “Besides, it’s not bad for us to have multiple festivals in a month, is it?”

“What, don’t you want your return to be announced?” Takumi asks, his tone benign and words spoken casually, but a sharp glance in her direction tells her a different story. Corrin falls silent. He yelps suddenly, jumping and hitting his knee against the underside of the table, before reaching down to rub his leg. He pulls a face at Ryoma, who is glaring at him.

Noticing her stare, Ryoma forces his annoyance down and flashes a perfect smile at her. She revises her opinion. _That’s Camilla right there._

This entire exchange flies over Hinoka’s head, who stares at her younger brother like he’s gone mad. “What’s _with_ you?”

“Are you okay?” Sakura frets, concerned, but he waves them both off.

“I just bumped my leg,” he sighs, ignoring Ryoma and Corrin.

Azura, as per her usual behaviour around the whole royal family, is quiet as she continues to eat through the incident, unruffled.

A few days later, the aforementioned festival is in full swing. Corrin groans as she stares out of her window, having mostly adjusted to the Hoshidan sun by now but dreading the idea of spending the whole day in the light. She leaves the room, after carefully adjusting her clothes to hide her Nohrian armour, only to be greeted not by Kaze, but by Ryoma.

“Oh,” she deflates, sighing, “Good morning.”

“I can’t believe I have to stake out outside your room just to catch you,” he sighs back, observing her, “Don’t let Takumi’s words bother you. He’s nicer than he looks, I promise.”

“He’s not wrong,” she says, as they walk together to the throne room where the rest must be waiting, “I’m not Kamui. Not really.”

“Not yet,” he corrects, confidently.

Stopping, Corrin looks up at him, “And if the day you wait for doesn’t come? What will you do?”

Visibly startled by the question, Ryoma frowns. Finally, he sighs. “Then it is what it is, isn’t it? If you don’t recover your memories, then we will simply make new ones. Whether you remember us or not… Nothing will change the fact that you are my sister.”

Corrin falls silent, struck by his conviction.

“You’re Takumi’s sister, too,” he continues, “He’ll realise that one day. Until then, have patience with him,” Ryoma pauses, before adding with a grin, “And if he annoys you, just give him a good smack.”

Surprised, Corrin bursts into a laugh, shaking her head.

“Finally, a smile,” Ryoma sighs gently, and she looks up and sees—

_“Finally, a smile,” an exhaled sigh. A warm hand against her cheek. “Dummy. Stop crying, okay? I didn’t mean it.”_

Oh.

Oh…

“You really did bully me all the time back then, huh?” Corrin snorts, resuming walking. He’s left behind for a moment, frozen at her words and their implications, before running to catch up.

“It was mostly _you_ hitting me,” he protests, laughing.

They part ways at the throne room, as he has to stay behind with Mikoto, Hinoka and Yukimura to prepare for the final stage of the festival. Corrin departs with Takumi, Sakura and Azura, almost practically forced into spending time with them by Mikoto, who suddenly doesn’t seem all that ignorant of their conflict when Corrin catches a pointed look in Takumi’s direction. The youngest prince reluctantly agrees, although he mostly stays by Sakura’s side and keeps her sandwiched between himself and the other two princesses. Corrin notices, but lets him be, equally keen to keep a distance from him for the time being.

Sakura drags them from stall to stall, surprisingly enthusiastic and passionate about food and, even more surprisingly, strong with her grip. Azura laughs as she lets herself be pulled along, seemingly blind to the wary looks of the people despite their polarising zeal at the sight of the younger royal siblings.

More than a few Hoshidans seem to recognise Corrin. There’s even one woman who bursts into tears upon catching a good look at her, sobbing, “Oh! Oh, princess! You’ve gotten so skinny!”

“But…but I’ve also gotten bigger, haven’t I?” Corrin jests unsurely, laughing nervously as the woman clings to her and shovels food into her arms. She ends up lugging back her haul to a gleeful Sakura, who devours more than Corrin thought possible in spite of her small frame.

“Is it…really okay to just accept this much food for free, though?” Corrin wonders aloud, staring down at the sweet potato she had bitten into.

“It’s fine,” Azura pats her arm, pulling her along, “ _But it’s meant for Kamui, not Corrin_ — you’re thinking something pointless like that again, aren’t you?”

Corrin manages to laugh. “Am I that transparent?”

Azura makes to reply, only for Takumi to interject, “So, that’s the name you go by? Corrin. It’s as foreign as the rest of you.”

Corrin looks at him, holding in a groan. Sakura seems to have run off to another stall and she prays for her to come back soon. “Yes, that’s the name I was given.”

Takumi stares at her, his gaze piercing, like she’s the only thing he sees. “By the man who murdered our father?”

She’s quiet at this. Azura tries to step in. “Takumi, please—”

“Be quiet,” he snaps, a low hiss, “Don’t speak my name. Don’t act like we’re family, Azura. You’re not.”

Azura’s mouth snaps shut, surprised by his sudden venom. Corrin can only assume this doesn’t normally happen, as she had previously spoken in his defence. Azura sighs. “You’re right, I’m not. But Kamui is.”

“But _Corrin_ isn’t,” he retorts, all narrowed eyes and barbed words as he looks back at Corrin, “You may wear her face, but you’re not anything like my sister. So, I’ll just say it now: I won’t be fooled by you like everyone has been. You’re not her.”

“Not yet,” Corrin says, echoing Ryoma’s words from earlier that morning. Without warning, she pulls back her arm and punches him hard in the bicep, enough to hurt. He flinches back, gasping more in surprise than pain.

“What the hell!” He rubs his arm, glaring at her. “What’d you do that for?”

Her reply is succinct. “You annoyed me, so I punched you.”

Takumi gapes, spluttering.

Between them, Azura watches the surreal interaction, wondering if she’s hallucinating. Sakura interrupts with an armful of paper boxes.

“Everyone, look what I’ve found! Takoyaki! Let’s…” She trails off, realising the odd sight she’s stumbled across. “What happened? Takumi-niisan, what did you do?”

He is affronted. “ _Me?_ I’m obviously holding my _injured_ arm. Why do you think _I’m_ the one who did something?”

She blushes. “W—well… It’s usually you, so…”

Ryoma’s advice proves useful in the end, since he keeps a wide berth away from her for the rest of the afternoon. Despite his initial reaction, she notices his eyes growing less hostile and more ponderous.

The sun begins to dip and it is early in the evening when Hinoka finds them, flying overheard the patrons and landing on horseback. She leaves her pegasus behind — Corrin is beginning to suspect this is habit, as the equine in question is unruffled at being abandoned — and walks them to the town square, where they take their positions in the crowd. Ryoma gestures to Corrin for her to join him and Mikoto at the base of the pale statue of the Dawn Dragon, looming majestically over them like a watchful guardian.

“In front of all these people…?” She whispers, nervously, as Mikoto starts her speech. He’s unbothered, ruffling her hair.

“You’ll be fine.”

She bats his hands off, peevish. “Not if you keep messing my hair! I _swear_ , Ryoma, one more time…”

He snickers. “See? Not nervous anymore, are you?”

Corrin huffs. “Annoyed isn’t an upgrade. Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”

Mikoto clears her throat, interrupting their hushed quarrel. She tries to look angry with them, but fails grandly by the way her lips keep twitching like she’s holding in her own laughter, and gestures Corrin forward by spreading her arms. Corrin anxiously makes her way forward, realising from the looks on some of the people’s faces that her banter with the crown prince had not gone unnoticed. It makes her want to dig a hole and bury herself.

Mikoto holds both of her hands in each of hers, beaming. The queen looks radiant under the sun in her white priestess robes, though it is more her expression of pure joy that makes her glow. She takes a moment to hug her in front of the entire crowd, kissing both cheeks before drawing back with a sweet smile. “Welcome back, my daughter.”

Corrin feels her heart soften. Maybe this is all right. A loving mother, annoying brothers, kind sisters… Maybe it’s fine to live this way. Maybe it’s okay to be Kamui, to live under the sun, if she can be with her.

“I’m back,” she says tremulously, her voice small.

Almost immediately, Ganglari trembles at her side. Corrin pulls away, confused, but before either mother or daughter can react, it rips out of the bindings Corrin had wrapped it in and lands in the grip of a shadowed figure of a man in the crowd. The blade explodes as he thrusts it into the ground without further warning, energy bursting in a wave. People scream. The sword splinters into pieces, shards flying in every direction.

Corrin’s brain struggles to register this. _What…_

Her mother is in her arms, gasping in pain. She had shielded her. _Why?_

“You’re… You’re my d—daughter,” the queen chokes out, a hand on her cheek. Corrin stares, unseeing.

What…?

“You’re not…hurt… Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Corrin swallows. “Don’t… Mother, I…”

“I’m…so sorry,” Mikoto whispers. Corrin doesn’t hear it. “I love you.”

What?

What just _happened?_

Why is it red?

There’s so much red. On her hands, on her clothes, on her hair. It won’t stop running out, staining everything until it is all she can see.

Red.

The world is red.

How could this happen again?

_Again?_ Corrin wonders blankly. _Yes, this happened before. I…I couldn’t do…I couldn’t stop…_

Stop.

Stop what?

_“Papa… No, stop! PAPA! Nii-san, help… Stop, stop, STOP! I SAID STOP! NO! GeT aWAy fRoM HiM.”_

Stop.

Stop them.

_I must stop them._

But they wouldn’t… They wouldn’t _stop_ so she had to…

Kill them.

Kill them all.

Kill. Kill. Make them stop. STOP.

_KILL THEM._

**—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**Act ???: Fragment**

Kamui screams. There is ash in the air and blood on her tongue as she does, her voice warping in her fury. The world _explodes_ , blinding and disorienting her as colours become sound, voices become light, emotions become scents.

She can taste their fear and she uses this to focus her rage. She must kill them. They would not stop, so she’ll simply _make_ them. They can never raise a hand against them ever again if she takes their arms, never spit venomous words if she rips their throats.

So that’s what she does. She does it until she cannot _breathe_ , until it is _red red red_ , until she cannot _move_ and she screams as magic lances through her, ripping through her body until she becomes small once more. The air fills with chants as spell after spell is cast on her, binding her until she is chained to the ground.

“Kamui! Let go, I said _let go!_ ” Her brother yells, their father’s sword in his hands. It protests against his hold, electricity crackling wildly and burning his flesh until it is charred and red and she wants that to _stop_ , but suddenly she can’t find the energy to do so. He thrashes with animalistic ferocity as ninja try to tear him away, screaming at him to _run, survive, you’re the crown prince, you must LIVE!_

The chains dig into her skin, tightening around her neck like a collar. Kamui feels her fight leave her.

“Nii-san,” she sobs, “Tasu…kete…”

“ _Kamui!_ ”

His voice grows smaller. Did he leave? Did he leave her? Maybe she deserves that. She couldn’t save Papa, so maybe she should just…

“A little dragon,” a grey-faced man murmurs lowly, pulling her chin up roughly to look at her. He smiles, grotesque and frightening and she wants to cry. “Fascinating… _A fine pet to keep_.”

Everything goes dark—

and she _forgets_.

**—x—X—x—**

The world splinters. Someone sings, melodious but so _grating_ to her ears, like a mist fogging her vision, and she screams and screams and _screams_ until the world is pieced back together.

The sky is red when she comes to. Ryoma is there, holding her tight as though to ground her to her sanity and she wails. “ _Nii-san_ …”

“Shh,” he cradles her face, wiping her tears and smoothing back her hair. “You’re here. You’re okay.”

“Papa… I couldn’t save… I couldn’t… _And Mama_ —” Her voice cracks and he pulls her to him, muffling her half-mad mutterings against his chest.

_She couldn’t save them._

**—x—x—x—X—x—x—x—**

**—x—x—X—x—x—**

**—x—X—x—**

**—x—**

**x**

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting in my laptop for months... Welcome to Here Be Dragons, aka “what I wish Fates had been.” Because honestly…they copped out on us. So much wasted potential.  
>   
> First thing to get outta the way: HBD!Corrin is a deconstructed Canon!Corrin. She's a Stepford Smiler with buried feelings and issues. I wanted to write her as a more jaded character — she’s sheltered so she’s naive, but she's also incredibly resentful of her situation. Her only joy is when her Nohrian sibs visit her; even then, she has unresolved resentment because they can leave and she can’t. HBD!Corrin is someone who's aware of her place in others’ eyes and wants to present her best self, so she doesn’t express her “uglier” emotions, since she often doesn’t have the power to act on them (e.g. even if she expresses her resentment, Garon still wouldn’t free her and she’d just be making Nohr sibs feel bad). Corrin hates her negative feelings, because she regards them as “useless” emotions that do nothing but torment her. As a result, she feels fake, but lacks the courage to express herself honestly.  
>   
> Behind The Scenes (HBD vs Canon):  
> — Ganglari didn't drag Corrin into the Bottomless Canyon. Instead, the bridge collapsed.  
> — Sequences of some events changed; she meets Azura before Hinoka/Sakura.  
> — Tbh the map where Hinoka defends Sakura is so…wintery…for a place in Hoshido? So I placed it along the border. Also, the reason they’re there is because of Sakura’s pilgrimage.  
> — Corrin sticks around for a month before shit hits the fan. I wanted her to bond with Hoshidan fam before ripping her life apart lmao.  
> — Azura’s first scene is mostly exposition. In HBD, the royals have actual dragon’s blood in their veins and are sometimes called “Dragonborn.” The War of the Twelve Dragons is glossed over; basically, the Dawn Dragon Byakuya and Dusk Dragon Breksta mated with humans and were blood-related ancestors to the royals, not just dragon gods to be worshipped. Dragon Veins are created either by a dragon “marking” an area (like an animal would, to claim territory) or by a royal’s death.  
> — Corrin knows about the Concubine Wars (called the Court Conflict here). Xander/Camilla said nothing, but Gunter has never failed to answer her questions. HBD!Elise also knows more about it than she gives away.  
> — Hoshido and Nohr are the only (known) countries with Dragonborn royals. Most dragons either didn’t ally with humans or only blessed them (e.g. Ice and Fire Tribes).  
> — The barrier at the Northern Fortress is canon. It’s never specified exactly wtf it does, only that it keeps Corrin “safe.” In HBD, the barrier subdues Corrin’s draconic blood. Being half-dragon, she’s more powerful than any of the sibs when it comes to Dragon Veins. It also prevents her from transforming into a dragon, but that will be elaborated later…  
> — HBD!Takumi does remember, albeit vaguely, of “Kamui.” He doesn’t trust Corrin because she acts so different from the happy-go-lucky onee-chan in his childhood. More than that, he hates how much hurt his elder siblings and mother went through and knows that, should she leave again, it would absolutely destroy his family.  
> — Takumi did delay his return because he wanted to complete his soldiers’ training, not to avoid seeing his lost sister. Tsunbro is the responsible sibling lmao.  
> — We don’t get the dynamics the Hoshidan sibs had with the Avatar before the kidnapping, so I took liberties lol. Ryoma's the bully brother who picks on her and Hinoka and Kamui's the only one who fights back. Hinoka's a crybaby who ran to her younger sister for protection. Takumi… Well, that’s for another time lmao.  
> — The Hoshidan Throne is implied to be a gift from Valla, which is the origin of a lot of mystical shit. Because knowledge of Valla was wiped from the main continent, most don’t know about the Hoshidan Throne’s origin, which is why Azura’s Valla-bells are ringing in her head when Corrin spills it to her. In canon, we don’t know if Mikoto told Azura she’s her aunt; in HBD, Mikoto keeps it from Azura, who becomes suspicious upon hearing about the throne.  
> — It’s not known in canon if Garon knew that Corrin could turn into a dragon. In HBD, Corrin snaps and tries to kill Garon in her dragon form when Sumeragi is killed. Since he’s there, Ryoma also knows.  
> — In canon, we get the perfect lobster nii-san; I wanted to contrast that here. He doesn’t struggle like Xander, but Raijinto rejected him for a time before accepting him (in comparison to HBD!Xander, who was accepted by Siegfried in childhood and was only not cast away because of this, and had to struggle to be SEEN as worthy of Siegfried — more on that later!).  
> — Playlist: Donut Hole, Ghost Rule, A Family’s Tea Party, ECHO  
>   
> Why is my prologue 20k words. I still have two more arcs after Birthright… Maybe I should've broken it up to 7 parts lmao


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